


Sunstede

by ImperialMint



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2399543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialMint/pseuds/ImperialMint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin had a duty to protect Camelot. He would do whatever it took to protect the rise of the Once and Future King, even if it meant his death. Dealing with Morgause and Morgana's plans and hiding who he was is almost easy compared to the mammoth realisation that, perhaps, there is more than destiny that leads his future with Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was no one else to turn to, no one else Guinevere could trust. She had refused to believe something had changed since Lady Morgana had returned to Camelot, lied to herself even, but the evidence was too much to dismiss now.

"I'm sorry," Gwen stuttered as Gaius opens the door, stepping aside to let her enter. "I didn't know who else to turn to."

She could feel the hysteria creeping in her gut, clawing up at her throat and threatening to push her down. Her eyes constantly focused on new things, old things, odd things, familiar things, just so she could keep the tears at bay.

"Whatever's the matter?" Gaius was concerned and worry crossed his features. Gwen couldn't bear to look at him, not just yet.

"It's the Lady Morgana." Gwen took a deep breath, hands shaking. She was so sure of what she'd seen, had been suspicious since noticing the old hag's change of face. Sorceress had leapt to her mind, but never had Gwen suspected of Morgana's involvement.

Gaius asked her something else, but the conversation dropped from her mind. Gwen had to tell someone, had to tell Gaius what she knew. "She had a box, and… and there was fire and her eyes… her eyes," Gwen clutched Gaius' arm, letting go a moment later.

"Are you sure Guinevere?" Gwen nodded at the serious tone, knowing full well she was accusing her mistress of using sorcery.

"I am sure. She was using magic. She's a sorceress," the words caught in Gwen's throat and she brought her hands up, clutching them to her neck as if they could steal back the words.

"I…" Now that she had started, it was hard to keep the hysteria down, and the words just had to be said. "Ever since she's been back I've felt… something's not right Gaius. I don't want to believe it but… there is nothing in her that is good for us now, that is what I fear."

Gwen expected Gaius to soothe her fears, place them as silly delusions and make her believe what she had seen was nothing. She knew it would be denial, but it would have been so much better than the truth.

"That, dear Guinevere, is exactly what I fear too."

There were no comforting words, no reassuring touch or sympathetic look. What Gwen has walked into because of her own inability to just leave things alone is uncharted territory. The only connection she had to sorcery was that her father had died of an accusation. She didn't understand sorcery, feared it and what it had done to her family… and now the person she had trusted was using it, bending it to her will.

"What do I do Gaius?" Gwen needed to know what she should do. She couldn't think, couldn't react to magic. She was just a lowly servant girl, brought up working in a castle that hunted sorcerers… and now the King's ward, her mistress was going against everything they had been taught, proving Uther's campaign true and just.

"There's nothing you can do. Not really." Gaius sighed and Gwen sees the life literally flow from him. She wondered briefly how long he had known – or at least suspected. Much longer than she had, that's for sure. "You need to wait. There's someone I need to talk to, someone who might be able to help."

Relief welled in Gwen's chest and she sobbed, choking back tears. It wasn't her problem anymore, at least not just hers. Gaius and someone else would help, she didn't have to be alone.

"If the Lady Morgana does anything out of character…" Gaius placed a hand on the wooden door, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll come right away," Gwen hurries to say, gathering her skirts in one hand and ducking out of the door, escaping the comforting smell of Gaius' rooms.

Gaius remained by the door for a while after Gwen had gone, staring at a flickering candle, a frown on his face. Morgana was becoming careless and with that, she was sure to become more reckless.

Gaius returned to his bed, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. He did not feel safe in Camelot without the presence of Merlin.

**.**

Merlin entered Camelot an hour behind Prince Arthur, a bag of herbs in his hand, just in case anyone questioned where he had been. It was as Arthur said; the Prince had completed the quest alone. He dismounted, leading his horse to the stables. Unlike Arthur, Merlin didn't have the advantage of passing his steed off to another person and instead was responsible.

"Ah, Merlin!"

Merlin jolted as the stable master's voice rang across the distance between them. Merlin walked a few more metres across the cobbled stone, bowing his head in acknowledgement.

"Here, Gaius wanted you to see him as soon as you could. I'll take Cara," he motioned to the horse, reaching for the reins. Merlin blinked. If the stable master was prepared to take over duties, it had to be serious.

"Is everything okay?" The man waved Merlin's worries off.

"There was something about the urgency of herbs," he eyed the bag Merlin held, "And said that the potency of this particular cure needed delicate handling."

Merlin nodded, thanking the stable master and unhooking the saddle bags, darting away from the stables a moment later and running to the physician's quarters. Had something happened while he'd been with Gwaine and Arthur?

He burst through the doors to his home, bags knocking against the wood. Gaius, to his credit, didn't even flinch, merely looked up as if Merlin entered the room in such a manner every time.

"You're back," he said, smiling. "And Arthur?"

Merlin set the bags down on a nearby table, bringing the bag of herbs to Gaius. They were herbs they always ran out of, rosemary and thyme, just in case his bags had been searched.

"He completed his quest." A wry grin crossed Merlin's features. "Alone of course."

Gaius ducked his head, humming in agreement. "Of course. I would expect no less from our Crown Prince." The twinkle in his eye betrayed his words and Merlin risked a chuckle, shaking his head absently.

"There is one thing," Merlin said, face losing its mirth. "The Fisher King said that this quest was for me… and he gave me this." Merlin fished the bottle out of his pocket, carefully handling the wooden-framed glass.

"It's water Merlin, why would he give you water?" Gaius looked at him in disbelief.

"It's water from the lake of Avalon." The disbelief vanished and instead Gaius reached for the bottle.

"Well? Did he say anything?"

Merlin opened his mouth to speak, eyes focused on the water inside of the glass. "He said that when all seemed lost, when there was no hope, I should use this. Something's going to happen Gaius… something terrible. The King said that I would be the only one who could stop it."

Gaius' eyes were grave and Merlin could see the plans formulating in his mind. Did Gaius know something of this already?

"Gaius?" Merlin questioned.

"It's nothing." He straightened up, smiling briefly to Merlin. "I believe it would be appropriate for you to attend to the Prince now, I shall see you in a short while."

It was only as Merlin took the golden trident from Arthur as he presented the proof of his quest to his father that he realised he had forgotten to ask Gaius what the urgency before had been. He risked a glance to Morgana, sitting by the King, as he left the room, passing the trident to Geoffrey for him to do as the King pleased. She was straight backed, smiling, yet Merlin noticed the coldness in her eyes.

She had not intended Arthur to live. Victory swelled in Merlin's chest and he fought the smile. It faded in an instant when the glass bottle in his pocket hit his hip, reminding him what was to come.

Merlin wouldn't be the fool who ignored the Fisher King's words.

**.**

That night, Gwen rushed to Gaius' chambers, lips pressed together tightly and eyes lowered. She all but ran when the corridors were empty, her fingers catching at the latch on the door. It was stiff and she almost cursed when – finally – the door swung open.

Gaius looked up instantly, standing when he noticed the panic on Gwen's face.

"Guinevere?" He questioned softly, motioning for her to sit down. Gwen sat on one of the work benches, hands covering her mouth.

"Are you hurt?" Gaius lowered his voice, rushing over to one of the apothecary cupboards, hands itching to heal whatever ailed Gwen.

"No, I'm fine Gaius." Gwen took a deep breath, turning to look at the physician. "When Arthur returned… Morgana…" Her eyebrows creased as she fought back emotion. "I think she wanted him dead."

Gaius nodded gravely, confirming Gwen's fears. He seemed so calm, so sure of something that Gwen felt herself calming down.

"Would you like some tea?" Gwen nodded numbly and Gaius moved to place a kettle on the stove, poking at the hot coals to encourage more heat. "Merlin should be back soon," Gaius mumbled, preparing the tea.

"Oh," Gwen's heart sank. "I'll be gone soon." She didn't want to go because leaving would mean she had to know what to do next, and that scared her more than she'd admit.

"That's not exactly what I meant." Gaius turned back to the stove, looking at the water and nodding. He brought the kettle over to the cups and poured the steaming water into them, passing one to Gwen. The third cup he had made was left, steam curling as it waited for its drinker.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before the thump of feet marched down the hall and the door slammed open, Merlin entering with a thunderous look on his face. Gwen wondered what punishment Arthur had bestowed on his manservant this time when Merlin noticed her.

"Gwen?" His voice was laced with worry. "Is everything alright?"

"Merlin," Gaius said, drawing his attention away from Gwen. From the tone of Gaius' voice, Merlin knew it was serious. "She knows about Morgana."

Merlin paled suddenly, eyes widening. He looked to Gwen, lips parting as if he was about to say something, when Gaius continued.

"She saw her practicing magic, in her chambers. Guinevere believes her target is Arthur."

Merlin relaxed slightly, but his shoulders were still slightly squared. He locked eyes on the tea left for him and darted to it, blowing over the steam as he cupped it in his hands.

"And?" Gwen looked up sharply at Merlin's tone. His eyes were fixed on his tea, a slight frown on his face.

"Merlin," Gaius chastised softly, indicating to the bite behind Merlin's word.

"Well isn't it a bit obvious she wants to get rid of Arthur?" Merlin let out a huff of air. "I mean, come on. Anyone with half a brain and who could just open their eyes and look could spot that Morgana has magic. And anyone who cared to look a little more could easily see that she's been trying to kill Arthur – and Uther – since she returned."

Merlin shook his head, looking at Gwen. She couldn't see any of the carefree Merlin in his eyes, none of the joker who was prepared to knock the Prince down off of his pedestal. Instead she saw someone who had known for a long time, knew many more secrets, and she was shocked by the wisdom in his eyes.

How could this be Merlin?

"It's not that simple Merlin." Gaius sighed softly. "It's easy for you because you've been there through it all and you… have a different view point. The rest of us watched her grow up. You can't accuse someone you've known your whole life with looks. There has to be proof."

Merlin narrowed his eyes. "It's easy to condemn someone with looks," he said, with such conviction that Gwen knew he'd experienced it. How or why, though, she couldn't even begin to determine.

"She is the King's ward," Gaius said instead and Gwen can't miss the slight pause before the word 'ward'.

Merlin rubbed his forehead, "Well what can we do?" For the first time since he came back with Arthur, Gwen felt the smile he shared with her. Merlin's features had changed, becoming softer, returning to the serving boy she knew him to be.

"We wait," Gaius muttered grimly, poking at the stove once again. "We wait to see what Morgana does next."

**.**

It was a few weeks before Morgana moved to strike again. Her own powers were the sole reason this time and Merlin could feel the distinction in what was Morgause-fuelled and what was solely Morgana in his own magic.

Morgause's magic was full of life and want. Her magic was greedy and it lingered behind, leaving a soiled palate and marks across the land.

Morgana's magic, on the other hand, was crumbling and twisted. When Merlin felt her magic, it felt as though two vines were coiling on each other, desperately competing to kill the other. The smaller one, the thinner one that was crumbling far before its time, was the one that was pure. This was the kind of magic that the unicorns were based on, that the Old Religion was meant for.

The darker strand, the one that had been poisoned into Morgana, reeked of Morgause and hemlock. Merlin had never realised that the poison he had given to Morgana would damage her magic too, but it had coiled in her core, become spiteful and manifested in her power.

It was subtle, but Merlin was sure that there was someone else's influence in there too. He recognised it, didn't want to, but oh how he did. It belonged to the Druid boy, Mordred, and Merlin could only hope that it was just because of his attachment rather than her meeting the boy again in the year that had passed.

In the pure strand of magic, Merlin could feel his own power. Unknown to Morgana, he had influenced her magic abilities. He'd believed in her, took her to the Druids as help, and poisoned her to save Camelot. He had played a drastic part in her life, and while she had no idea, Merlin did.

It was through the tiniest speck of connection that Merlin knew Morgana's dream.

Guinevere stands on the steps of the throne room, her hand connected to Arthur's. Arthur is smiling, eyes only for Gwen. They then face the room, bright eyed with glistening metal on their heads. Gwen – Queen Guinevere – dips into a curtsey to her people, in the same moment King Arthur bows. They respect their kingdom and Merlin's eyelids fluttered as the image changed.

Guinevere is seated next to the King for council, listening to the villagers. Arthur lets her have her own say, connected to the town as she is. The people clearly love their queen and they approach the blessed couple with smiles and well wishes, sharing their problems and receiving concern and promises in return.

The dream begins to slip, but Merlin wasn't ready yet. He had to know, had to show Morgana something worth saving in Camelot if she could not have the throne.

Merlin pushed on the pure thread, running his magic along the tendrils and forcing the tainted thread of magic back, just for a moment.

They see images of a prosperous Camelot, of another council session. This time, however, Arthur is grinning to a young couple, standing from his throne to shake their hands. It isn't clear – at first – why he is honouring them, until the King nods and the man's eyes flash an amber colour. The juggling balls his wife held danced in the air, entertaining the King.

Merlin felt the shift in Morgana's sleep as she sees magic's return to Camelot, and Merlin just hoped it would be enough.

Just as he was about to separate their connection, cut off the slight flow of magic he had forced into her, Mordred's magic collides with his own, digging into the pure strand. Merlin cries out and he can feel Morgana doing the same.

"Camelot shall fall."

There are too many images to count, of fields burning, of battles lost. Carrion birds pick at plentiful selections and Merlin recognises faces. They are older, more worn, and certainly not alive anymore. They all wear the mark of the knights of Camelot and Merlin struggles to push away Mordred's taint.

The dream flickers, grabbing Merlin by the throat. He can see the blue eyes of Mordred baring his soul as he watched a sword pierce Arthur, two men falling in synchronisation, alone on a sea of dead bodies.

This is how Arthur will die. The earth is cracked, the sky bloody and Merlin can't breathe. Where is Arthur's queen? Where are the knights to guard their King? Where is he for that matter?

"You all abandon him in his time of need." Mordred's voice coils around the dream and Merlin knows that this is intended for him, not Morgana.

There are images again. Images of Arthur alone in his room, staring blankly across the dining table, two plates of food set up. A flicker later and Merlin watches as Arthur presses his ear to a door, a hand against the wood.

Merlin had his suspicions and he wanted none of them to be true. He knew, though, probably knew it from the moment he had to tell Gwen that Lancelot had gone, what lay behind that door.

Mordred's magic reveals his suspicions, the Once and Future Queen Guinevere laid bare on the bed, Lancelot covering her with himself, pressing their bodies together…

Merlin felt himself slipping, Mordred pulling him deeper into the dream. If he didn't wake now, he'd be lost in these images forever, unable to separate self from unadulterated magic.

Pain exploded at the back of Merlin's head and his eyes snap awake. He looked up, gasping for breath. Mordred's magic has vanished completely and somewhere he knows Morgana will be waking in her chambers, unsure what to make of the images.

Arthur stareed back disapprovingly, frown clear on his face.

"Only you could manage to choke when sleeping," he said, distain clear in his words. Merlin smiled. This was his King, Arthur free of pain and death.

"Well don't just sit there Merlin," Arthur looked over his shoulder, eyes blazing. "Get up and actually look like you're doing work at the very least?"

Arthur left the room, allowing Merlin to continue his duties of cleaning the armour, all as it was before he had slipped into sleep. The images jumbled and Merlin knew he couldn't keep it to himself any longer. He couldn't tell Gaius, though. He hadn't believed Merlin about the crystal visions before and this… this issue seemed far more personal.

There was only one person and Merlin knew the experience wouldn't be a joyful occasion.

**.**

If not for their last meeting, Merlin wouldn't have believed the dragon would come. Kilgharrah landed with a thump, eyes furious though they were bent to Merlin's command.

"You summoned me, young warlock?" Kilgharrah's voice was full of annoyance and Merlin chose to ignore it.

"I need your advice."

The dragon tilted his head curiously, eyes widening as a slight smile curled his lips.

"Advice? Usually it's help you come to me for." Smoke curled from his nostrils and Merlin took a slight step back.

"What do you know of Guinevere?" he asked instead, looking up to Kilgharrah. It was only a shot, the dragon could chose not to say anything at all… but Merlin wanted to trust him.

"Perhaps I should ask, what do you know of Guinevere?" the dragon threw Merlin's question back at him, teeth revealed as he smiled properly.

"If… if she becomes queen… will she hurt Arthur?"

For a terrible moment, Merlin can believe that Gwen is faithful, that she loves Arthur and only Arthur. And then the dragon heaved a great sigh, bending his neck down so that he can almost touch Merlin's face.

"If Guinevere becomes Queen, Albion will fall, yes."

Merlin scrunched his face up, wanting to call Kilgharrah a liar. Except he knew that dragon could never lie to him, and what could he stand for telling this to Merlin?

"She represents the land of Albion. She represents the people and the earth and when she falls, the land will fall with her." The dragon looked at Merlin, eyes piercing him. "If Guinevere becomes Arthur's Queen, she will betray him to his closest friend and best knight Lancelot. You will not see him until his death, when all of Albion will fall into chaos and there will be no way to stop it."

Merlin thought of Mordred's vision, of Arthur impaled on the sword, swiping the last blow to kill his opponent before falling on his knees, hands desperately trying to stop the blood flow from his stomach.

"What can I do?" Merlin practically begged the answer, unsure of how he could stop the fall of Albion. Kilgharrah had always mentioned how crucial Merlin was to the rise of the Once and Future King, surely it extended to his reign?

Kilgharrah dipped his head, stretching out his wings. Merlin was afraid the dragon would fly there and then, but his kin paused.

"Arthur is destined to marry someone who represents the land Merlin. That you cannot change." Merlin's heart sank. "But there is more than one person who the land responds to."

With that, Kilgharrah took to the skies, surprisingly quiet for an animal of his size.

Merlin walked back to Camelot, a hand in his pocket all the time, fingers pressed to the glass that contained the water from Avalon. How could he search for someone to replace Gwen when he had to watch Morgana?

His hands left the bottle as Merlin entered the citadel, making his way to his room. He'd figure it all out in the morning, for now he needed sleep.

**.**

Gwen came rushing to Gaius' chambers the night after Merlin talked to Kilgharrah. She was out of breath, eyes wide as the door closes behind her.

Merlin slammed his book shut, pulling spare papers on top of it to hide the nature of his book. Gaius would have scolded him for studying magic so openly, but Gaius was down in the lower village, treating an illness that had cropped up for a few people.

"Morgana knows about Arthur and me." Gwen looked as though she was about to rip her bottom lip off and Merlin stood, guiding her to a seat.

"She said today that…" Gwen rubbed her eyes, trying to stop the tears. Merlin felt a pang of sympathy; Gwen had to be so scared. The woman she had respected and loved as a friend turned out to be plotting to kill the man she loved and now… well, now it could well be she had threatened Gwen too.

"Did she hurt you?" Merlin was surprised at how calm his voice was.

"No, but she said that she would tell Uther." Gwen clutched at Merlin's arm. "I can't… she can't…"

The images of Gwen's betrayal rang in Merlin's mind and he suddenly knew what he had to do. Arthur couldn't marry Guinevere. Merlin wouldn't allow that, despite their feelings. They loved each other, yes, but Gwen didn't love Arthur in the same way he loved her.

"Gwen," Merlin said softly, sitting next to her and drawing an arm around her shoulders. His heart sank at what he was about to do, feeling too much like holding Morgana as she suffocated. "You have to leave Camelot."

Gwen's head looked up, eyes fiery. She was the Guinevere that could rule a kingdom, the woman who Merlin had grown to love. She was back, passionate and unwavering.

"Leave Camelot?" Her voice was mocking, "Merlin, I can't. Camelot is my home, how stupid-"

"Then Morgana will tell Uther."

Merlin's words brought silence and Gwen stilled. He knew she knew he was right.

"You need to leave Camelot, just for a while. Pretend you have to see someone or something… lay low for a while."

With each word, Merlin felt the heavy sting of betrayal building up, preparing to unleash itself.

"On my own Merlin?" Gwen shook her head. "It could be a good plan, but I can't Merlin. Camelot is my home and I can't just leave. What about Elyan? I have my family here and-"

"And Arthur," Merlin cut across simply. "Gwen, Morgana is going to tell Uther. There's no maybe, she will tell him if you remain here. She wants to destroy Camelot and, knowing Arthur, he would do anything to protect you."

The words 'even die' remained unspoken, but they were clear.

"If you stay, Morgana will win. We will lose, even if Arthur stays alive."

Merlin would do all he could, even reveal his magic, to protect Arthur. He was prepared to lose everything in order to protect his Prince, but only as a last resort. If Gwen left, he could protect Arthur, both now and in the future.

"I-"

"You could find Lancelot." The four words smashed against Gwen's resolve and Merlin finally saw a flicker.

He knew she still loved him. And, thanks to Mordred's visions, Merlin knew what her love would do. He had the chance to tip the scales before anyone was wise to the game. He felt dirty for doing it, for ruining Arthur's love, but he wouldn't be responsible for the fall of Albion.

Not when that was what Mordred wanted.

"Lancelot?" Gwen's voice was steady. "Why would I want to find him?"

Merlin stood, moving back to his magic book.

"Why?" he commented lightly, not meeting Gwen's eyes, "Because you love him." The flickering of Arthur's betrayal rose again. "And because he will save you."

Merlin's loyalty was to Arthur Pendragon and Arthur Pendragon alone. That didn't mean it was easy to watch Gwen go, knowing that she'd have disappeared by the following day.

The image of Morgana clutching her throat danced next to the image of Gwen's tear stained cheeks as she left Gaius' chambers and Merlin found he couldn't focus on his book anymore.

What use was magic when all it brought was pain?

**.**

"She's gone."

Merlin looked up as Arthur looked out of his window. He glanced back down to the boots he was polishing, running the brush harder against the leather. It was the first thing Arthur had said since returning from lunch and Merlin didn't have to piece anything together to understand what he meant.

"I know," he said instead, quietly as if he too was mourning her.

"I thought…" Arthur's voice cracked and Merlin was grateful for the fact he was looking down. Arthur wouldn't have to see the pain on his manservant's face, pain for causing Arthur to be like this.

"I thought she loved me," Arthur whispered, pressing a hand against the windowpane.

Merlin couldn't say that Gwen had for he couldn't offer an explanation for why she hadn't stayed.

Arthur sniffed heavily and Merlin realised the Prince was moments away from crying. He hadn't sent Merlin away, either, which told Merlin that Arthur needed him. It was a rare occasion that Arthur revealed his true emotions and Merlin respected how hard it was for him.

Merlin stood, walking to Arthur's side. It felt natural now, as if he should always stay there.

"The first woman I loved died in my arms," Merlin said softly, clasping Arthur's shoulder gently. He felt Arthur jerk a fraction to the statement before removing his hand, slipping it from Arthur's shoulder and down his arm until it fell at his own side.

"And?" Arthur remained with his gaze out of the window, but Merlin could hear the desperation hidden in the lone word.

"I'll never not-love her, but I've found other things to fall on." Merlin remembered Freya's head falling into the mud, the way smoke from her funeral boat had drifted back to the shore, burning Merlin's tears as they fell down his cheeks. "I'll see her again someday and I know she'll be proud of who I've become, what I managed to do without her." Merlin looked to Arthur, not surprised to meet the Prince's eyes. "Of how I was able to find love again."

Merlin backed away, returning to boot-cleaning. Arthur stayed vigil at the window, eyes fixed on Merlin.

It was a spark, one that wouldn't be felt for a long time, but Merlin wanted to let Arthur know it would be okay. He could love again, he would love again, someone who loved him back as much as was given to them.

The thought burned in his throat and Merlin convinced himself that it was because he had forced Gwen to Lancelot and broken Arthur's heart… not because of the clarity he'd seen in Arthur's stare when they'd locked eyes.

**.**

Morgana had been strangely quiet since Gwen had left Camelot. Almost three weeks had passed and life at Court seemed to be running smoothly. Morgause and Mordred had backed away from Morgana, or at least for the moment, and Arthur appeared to be past Gwen.

Only Merlin noticed the slump in the Prince's shoulders, the sad looks he would dart around the council rooms when he thought no one was looking, clearly searching for Gwen. Merlin had once caught him smiling to himself, raising his eyes as if to make eye contact with someone, before his face had fallen, the realisation of 'she wasn't there' sinking in.

The guilt crawled up his neck each time he caught Arthur suffering and had to look away. There was no one he could tell about what he had done, unlike the time with Morgana. Gaius wouldn't understand, call Merlin selfish for what he had done.

But Gaius could never understand the fear Merlin had of Mordred's future coming true. He could not allow Arthur to be betrayed, slaughtered and Albion fall. Gaius hadn't seen the images, hadn't felt the death seep into his head, curling there as Mordred's words rang out in truth.

He could tell Kilgharrah, but what would that serve? The dragon would just laugh before offering cryptic responses, mirth in his eyes as he wove riddles around Merlin.

The only other person he could think to tell would have been Lancelot – as he knew of Merlin's magic and may have been able to help. Except for the fact he played a crucial role in the downfall of Albion.

A hand enclosed around Merlin's bicep and he was pulled into an alcove, facing the angered eyes of the Lady Morgana. He tried to steel himself, calm the panic that rose at the sudden grabbing and bite down the magic that had risen instinctively. If there was one person he would never trust with his secret it would be Morgana.

"You sent her away," Morgana hissed, pressing herself closer to Merlin, backing him up against the stone wall. "You saw what was going to happen and you sent here away." Morgana's voice curled up in amusement, a small laugh escaping.

"You idiot, Merlin." The bitterness overtook any mirth and she pressed a slender finger to Merlin's neck, pushing against the skin. "Why do you go so far for him? You're just a serving boy."

Merlin felt his throat clamp tighter as Morgana's eyes flashed amber. She didn't bother with an incantation and Merlin knew that, if he used his own power, he could have easily squashed the spell sent to wrap around his throat. He didn't though, knowing that on many levels he deserved it. He had, after all, tried to kill Morgana.

The spell fell suddenly and Morgana smirked, her beautiful face marred by the twisted grin.

"Camelot will fall soon enough, once Morgause has found Him."

Merlin wheezed as air rushed into his lungs. He coughed once as Morgana pulled back. "Who?" He assumed she meant Mordred, but at the triumphant look in Morgana's eyes, Merlin wondered if it really was the Druid boy.

"He is the one spoken of in prophecies, the greatest warlock the world will ever see." She gave a bitter laugh and Merlin wondered how messier the situation could become. "He is Emrys," she uttered his name as if it were a sacred word, bending her tongue under her smirk and triumph.

And then she was gone, leaving Merlin to press his head against the stone arch. In his pocket, the water was a heavy weight and Merlin placed his hand in to wrap around the cool glass. He'd have to use it soon, this was known beyond doubt.

But he had to see Kilgharrah once more. If Morgause was looking for him and stumbled across Mordred… Merlin knew he wouldn't have long.

**.**

Strangely enough, Kilgharrah was waiting for Merlin when he arrived. The clearing was the very same one that he had been 'defeated' in by Arthur, spacious enough for them both to move around in when they talked.

Merlin began to pace, dismounting from his horse.

"Someone has been searching for you," the dragon said, matter of fact.

"Well I know that already," Merlin muttered, sitting cross legged on the floor, ditching his pacing. "What can I do to keep myself hidden is what I want to know."

Kilgharrah grunted in amusement. "Perhaps it is not the time to stay hidden."

Merlin looked at the dragon, frowning with a smile. "Oh of course. So I'll just waltz in on one of the great feasts and start performing parlour tricks then?" He scoffed, "What kind of idea is that?"

"The witch will strike soon. You must be prepared to do whatever it takes to keep your destiny." The dragon shifted, moonlight catching on a dent on his chest. Merlin realised it had to be where Arthur had struck the dragon and he didn't hesitate to move to Kilgharrah's side.

"I'm going to have to reveal myself," he said, running a hand over the spear mark. Kilgharrah bowed his head, his breath warm on Merlin's back.

"There is a time for everything. You are the sole protector of Camelot and the one who will guide the rise of Albion. I cannot give you answers Merlin," the dragon admitted, his voice honest for once. "There are things that even I do not know."

Their moment of kinship ended as Kilgharrah stepped away and Merlin removed his hand from the dragon's scales.

"No one is every truly alone," he echoed the same meaning as the Fisher King and Merlin nodded, watching as Kilgharrah pulled away, taking to the skies once more.

He was right. Merlin was never alone. He had Arthur, Gaius, Gwen, Morgana, Mordred… so many people be they on his side or another. Strengthening his resolve, Merlin set his eyes in the direction he had come.

"Camelot will not fall," he murmured, eyes flashing in the darkness. It was an oath, one he would uphold at all costs.

**.**

Merlin pinned Arthur's ceremonial cloak down, smoothing the red fabric on the Prince's shoulders and making sure the material flared out just right. There was a feast tonight, in honour of the approaching solstice, and Arthur was to look his best.

"I don't know why I have to wear the circlet," Arthur moaned, looking to his crown. It was uncomfortable, pressing against his skull in such a way that it always gave him a headache by the end of the evening.

"I'll be sure to keep your goblet full Sire," Merlin smirked, darting a look to his master. Arthur rolled his eyes, clapping Merlin on the shoulder.

"A good manservant would do that anyway, need I remind you again?" His voice was humorous, more so than it had been since Gwen had left.

"Yes, Sire," Merlin mocked, bowing deeply. "Of course, anything you wish my Lord."

Arthur gave a bark of disbelief, narrowing his eyes. "You really are one of a kind, you know that?"

Merlin shrugged. "I do try my best to keep you on your toes."

Arthur picked up the crown, placing it on his head and grimacing. "How do I look?" he muttered, turning to face the mirror against one of the walls. Merlin watched as he sized himself up, turning slightly, checking the fit of his clothing.

"Acceptable," he said, eventually. Merlin caught his eyes in the mirror and smiled, noticing the laughter locked behind the Prince's duties. Arthur smoothed the fabric down over his chest absent mindedly, eyes still fixed to Merlin, and Merlin found he couldn't look away.

The moment was broken as the sound of laughter floated up to Arthur's open window, and Merlin bobbed his head, making a hasty retreat to check in with Gaius, just before he changed into his own ridiculous outfit.

As the feather hat sat on his head, Merlin looked in his own mirror, a small hand-held one propped up on Gaius' desk. He didn't look like a mighty Warlock, or the last Dragonlord. He looked lost, eyes wide and cheeks hollow, and he remembered another time he had looked like this.

Of course, it couldn't be the same. The last time he had looked this tired, this lost, was with Freya. He'd been keeping her safe, and that had to have been why. It had nothing to do with the fact he loved her, not when it meant he was falling for Arthur.

Impossible.

**.**


	2. Chapter 2

Since Morgana had returned from her year-long absence (though everyone else referred to it as the time she'd spent kidnapped and tortured, but Merlin knew better), Merlin tried his hardest to avoid contact with her. It was hard, and trying to keep Arthur away from her was harder, but it kept his mind sharp.

When Morgana was unavoidable, Merlin tried not to look at her. He didn't need to see the look of coldness on her face, disguised by a twisted smile. He didn't want the knowledge on his shoulders, knowing that she could have been so great, so wonderful… and it was his fault she was there, eyes stony and jaw set with her teeth clenched.

He could have told her, explained that she wasn't alone. There had been so many times that Merlin could have told her, extended an arm to lift her from the troubled waters she lay sinking in.

But that arm hadn't come in the form of Merlin. Morgause had taken her when she lay dying, as fault of Merlin. When it was between Camelot and Morgana, Merlin had to choose Camelot. There hadn't been a choice, not really, when the conduit for Morgause's spell to destroy Camelot had been there, alive, and Camelot – Arthur – had been dying.

He regretted that he'd hurt his friend, but not that he'd done it.

Morgana had taken to avoiding Merlin as well, something which Merlin was thankful for. He couldn't cope with watching his back for her as well as protecting Arthur, keeping his magic hidden and trying to figure out Morgause's plans. Strangely Morgana seemed content to wait for Morgause's cues, which helped Merlin more than he'd admit.

Something had been bothering Merlin all day, before he'd woken. It had been a rare occasion that Arthur requested him to stay in the antechamber outside of the Prince's room so Merlin's sleep had been slightly fractured, waiting for the Prince to call him in for some reason or another. Traditionally Merlin should stay in the antechamber always, but Arthur generally called for another servant to be ready, understanding that Gaius needed Merlin too.

Merlin had been between sleep and consciousness, shifting around a lump in the mattress. So much for sleeping like the Prince's manservant, the bed was worse than his own. He'd been on his side, frowning, when something hit him like a tonne of bricks.

Gasping, Merlin sat up, eyes darting around madly. He could still feel the feeling, tingling under his skin now, and it made his stomach curl. Whatever it was pulled at his magic, just a little tug, causing Merlin to double over, a grunt escaping his throat.

Then it was gone, as abruptly as it had arrived. The sickness left him like a leech, pulling off with a pop and leaving a lingering ache.

Merlin's first thought was to see if Arthur was alright and he poked his head in the door, light from the hallway shining through the crack. Arthur shifted in the bed, facing Merlin, and the manservant smiled at the frown Arthur wore in his sleep. He looked like a stubborn child and Merlin was willing to bet the Prince had all the ladies at court wrapped around his finger as a child.

Merlin returned to his bed, sighing heavily as he tucked himself back up. There was still a tingle under his skin and he felt as though something had been ripped from his magic, like a soiled bandage ripped from the skin. It was a disturbing thought and the only solution Merlin could think of was sorcery.

Even Kilgharrah had said to be careful and now Merlin suspected someone had tried to locate him. It wasn't too far-fetched and he was certain there was a spell for such instances… but the fact that it had touched him personally unsettled Merlin.

In the morning, Merlin rose from his bed, not having slept since he'd woken. He attended Arthur quietly, quipping when appropriate, but not quite smiling. Arthur didn't seem to notice much, snorting and rolling his eyes when Merlin stumbled over his own foot, skidding on the floor.

"You have to be the most incompetent person in the world," Arthur muttered, dismissing Merlin. "I'll have someone fetch you to attend me after training. Do something useful until then."

Merlin left with a slight grin. The one thing that had always remained between them was the banter. Even when one was on the brink of death, the other would sneak something past, or if one had their heart broken… there was no 'just Merlin' or 'just Arthur' when they were together, instead it was as if they were fused. They created Merlin-and-Arthur, something Merlin had never fully appreciated before, despite Kilgharrah's constant insistence.

Since Gwen had left, Arthur's moods had changed. He didn't allow it to show out training knights or in court, but when they were alone, Merlin's hands reaching to unbuckle armour after a hard day's work or sitting across from the Prince at meal times, Merlin could see the sadness in the future king.

Most days it was bearable and Merlin almost believed the sorrow was gone, that his Arthur was back. And then, the next day, Arthur would be unbearable, irritated, silent and prone to lashing out at Merlin. That was fine though, because Arthur could lash out at him. In a way, Merlin deserved it; he was the one who had sown the seed of hope in Gwen that she would be better away from Camelot and thus sent her on her way. He'd known, understood, what it would do to Arthur… but he'd convinced himself it was for the good of the King, the good of Albion.

"What do you know about people connected to the land?" Merlin asked as Gaius entered their shared home. The physician stopped in his tracks, the tortoise-shell he carried hitting his hip.

"I don't suppose I want to know why you're asking, do I?" Gaius joined Merlin on the bench, setting his case down on the table.

"Someone just said that they had to marry someone connected to the land and I… I wondered what it meant," Merlin finished with a shrug, sipping the goblet of water he had to his left.

"Well I can't offer a full definition, but it should be fairly obvious to you." Gaius rapped his knuckles on the table, looking pointedly to Merlin. "You need to be connected to the land. This could potentially mean your love is fair and just and that you are born on a day of magical importance to the Old Religion, though people such as that are exceptionally rare and likely to become corrupt."

That sounded about right, Merlin thought. Gwen's love knew no boundaries – even in the face of her father's death at Uther's will had she remained true to her morals. Merlin could have killed the king, could have given Guinevere the revenge she may have wanted, but she had chosen not to.

And yet – in the future had she stayed – she would have corrupted the kingdom with Lancelot, betrayed her King and her country. No, Merlin couldn't allow that.

"Or it could mean you are a creature of the Old Religion." Gaius raised his eyebrows and dipped his head a little, hand reaching out over the table. "As I don't see anyone marrying a beast, the only creatures of the Old Religion would be sorcerers, and even then almost all have no ties to the land."

Merlin was suddenly struck by the look in the Great Dragon's eyes when he had told Merlin that Arthur had to marry someone of the Land.

"But-"

"Indeed," Gaius muttered, his mouth twisting gravely. "There may be another, but I feel that you are the only human bound to the land. You were born with magic for a reason, but I doubt even the Great Dragon or the Druids really know how powerful you are or how much you mean."

The words unsettled Merlin. Surely there was someone else who was bound to the land and would remain true… but could Merlin take that risk? In any case, would it be better to keep Arthur from marrying at all? If he had to marry someone of the land, could Albion reign peacefully without the marriage part?

Merlin sighed heavily, bringing his shoulders to a slump and head to rest on the table surface. It wasn't even midday and already he had a headache.

**.**

Two days later, Merlin felt the earth shift. He'd never paid attention to the feeling of the land under his feet before, but before it had never been abnormal. Now, however, he could feel something, an odd, sickly feeling that seeped into his very bones. It was a harrowing feeling and sleep became harder.

"Can you feel anything strange?" Merlin said to Gaius the following night as he spooned stew onto his plate.

"What do you mean?" Gaius looked up from a collection of papers, raising a quizzical brow.

"I mean," Merlin lowered his voice, handing one of the bowls to Gaius as he did so. "That I can feel something and… it's not good. Can't you?" Merlin tried to hide the desperation in his voice, but he was sick and tired of feeling so alone and so strange. His magic meant the world was on his shoulders, as his duty – his destiny – his job, his everything and he was almost sick of it.

"No Merlin, I can't." Gaius continued to look at Merlin as he deflated, sinking in his chair and pushing the stew around in his bowl. "But the solstice is almost upon us."

Merlin looked up, meeting his mentor's eyes with a frown. "The solstice?"

Gaius nodded in return, pushing his papers aside and drawing his dinner to him. "If anything was going to happen it would be then. The solstice is deeply ingrained in the Old Religion and is celebrated, for one, by the Druids as they believe the natural magic of the land is at its most potent on the summer and winter solstices."

The winter solstice fell in just over two weeks. That wasn't enough time to prepare for anything, and by the feel of his magic, Merlin knew it would be a big 'thing' that would welcome the shortest day of the year.

"Something bad's going to happen," he said, avoiding Gaius' eyes. The physician sighed, picking up his spoon.

"Something bad always happens in Camelot." He did have a point there. "But if you say you can feel it now… have you spoken to the Great Dragon?"

Merlin shook his head, trying to avoid the subject of the dragon. The beast would be no use in this situation and it was foolish to call Kilgharrah outside Camelot so many times in a short period. There was still lingering tension between them from when Merlin had forced the dragon to save Morgana and while it had been ignored for now, there was no telling what kind of mood Kilgharrah would be in this time.

"No, but-"

"I strongly advise you to do so then Merlin. If you're unsettled by this then it has to mean something." Gaius fixed him with a look, shuffling his papers with the fingers of one hand. "You have such great power and if you can feel something, I don't think it's something we can afford to ignore."

Merlin looked down at his bowl of stew and nodded absently. He'd go tonight, one last time to see Kilgharrah. If the dragon could explain it then the trip would have been worth it, even though Merlin was sure he'd return with more worries than he had before.

**.**

"Draca! Ic hæbbe sēo nīed nēotan ēower ongytenes!" Merlin felt the words slip from his throat, bending on the wind and rising to Kilgharrah. There was a tug in his chest as his need for the dragon's knowledge sunk in and he only needed to wait a few minutes before a dark shadow eclipsed the moon.

"That was quick," Merlin said as Kilgharrah landed heavily, swiping his tail through the clearing.

"I have been closer, waiting for you. I knew we would meet once more before the solstice." Kilgharrah's voice was tinted with amusement and Merlin wondered how long the dragon had been playing him.

"You knew? You knew it was coming?" They'd had plenty of disagreements, but every time they had another one, Merlin felt somewhat betrayed. They were supposed to be friends, but then again, the thousand-year-old-plus dragon probably had a warped sense of friendship after all he'd been through.

"Of course I knew, young warlock. Just as you can feel it, so can I… though I have felt nothing so powerful as this before apart from the slaughter of our kin." Merlin shuddered at the thought of feeling the dragons and Dragonlords dying, their deaths lying heavily over his skin and magic. He couldn't imagine how Kilgharrah had felt and, quite frankly, hoped he never would have to.

"Well what does it mean? What can I do?" Merlin's voice was desperate and, just for once, he wanted to be told what to do. It was so easy to be a manservant when all he had to do was complete tasks. Being a warlock – fulfilling his destiny – was so much harder because he was alone. And if he wasn't alone, then he'd be dead.

Sure there was help from Gaius and even the dragon when he wanted to help, but they could only go so far. Gaius never fully understood and Kilgharrah refused to be blunt, preferring to riddle everything up.

Kilgharrah looked at Merlin as if he were mud on a shoe. "Do? You don't do anything." A rumble of laughter sounded around them and Merlin frowned at the dragon's amusement. "You'll be tested, and whether you rise or fall will depend on how you view this test."

Merlin wanted to ask how he'd be tested, what he should do, but he knew it was pointless. If Kilgharrah didn't say it upfront and straight away, he never would. He considered calling the knowledge forward forcibly, bending the dragon's will to that of a Dragonlord's, but hadn't he caused Kilgharrah to suffer enough by now? The dragon had been complacent in his questionings, but Merlin knew neither of them had forgotten Merlin enforcing his power, dragging out a spell to save Morgana.

Kilgharrah left shortly after and Merlin made his way back to the castle. He walked alone through the wood connecting his meeting place with the dragon to the lower towns. The trees seemed to whisper at his approach, but Merlin spared them a single glance only before continuing on, rubbing his hands together against the cold.

Somewhere ahead an animal darted across the forest, causing Merlin to jump. He frowned and shook his head, hastening his pace back to the castle, uneasy at being away from Camelot and leaving it in Morgana's hands.

That was what it was, really. There was a choice between Merlin's power and Morgana's power. Uther never really stood a chance and neither could Arthur, not in this war. In the backgrounds, never acknowledged, there were two sides; Merlin's side and Morgana's side.

Merlin had Kilgharrah and Gaius to aid him. Morgana had Morgause and Mordred, though Merlin couldn't grasp the involvement of the Druid boy completely. What did he stand to gain? What did anyone stand to gain? All he really had to rely on was the word of an old dragon if it was put simply. What had made Merlin trust Kilgharrah then?

They were kin, probably. Just how Morgana and Morgause seemed to be. Just how Morgana and Arthur were… and yet Morgana was committed to usurping the throne, killing the heir and taking her 'rightful' place as Queen.

Merlin sighed. Why did he come to Camelot again? Wasn't life in Ealdor simple and good enough? Why had his mother sent him here?

There were plenty of reasons – least of all not limited to Merlin wanting to leave – but looking back, the life he'd had was good. It was simple, without the complications of treason and crimes he needed to stop, no challenges or tests he'd have to face. All he'd had to worry about back in Ealdor was whether the chickens had been stolen by foxes or when he needed to help in the fields. His days then had been spent between working and darting around causing trouble with Will.

But thinking about Will opened a new can of worms really, and Merlin stuffed the sorrow he knew he'd always feel for his friend's death.

He wasn't Merlin of Ealdor anymore. He couldn't be; that tiny village was far too small for someone like the great Emrys of Camelot, the last Dragonlord and the most powerful Warlock ever known.

It wasn't a title he wanted. Merlin didn't crave fame or glory, or even a thank you at the end of the day. He didn't want the respect and honour that came with a title, but in the world of knights, kings and courts, titles were everything.

If they all lived, if Arthur managed to unite Albion and bring magic back to the land in her people, Merlin would ascend to his foretold greatness. The Druids had known for years of his arrival and yet… Merlin felt nothing of the great power he was alleged to possess. He was a man, barely out of adolescence, and a manservant first. His gift with magic was an added bonus, nothing worthy of respect.

Though, Merlin admitted to himself, praise and thanks would be appreciated for all he did. It was hard, living to hide who he was, but he'd perfected it at a tender age. His hard work was seldom rewarded, but the times it had been (almost all from Gaius), Merlin's smiles had lasted for days.

Lost in his thoughts, Merlin tramped his way to his room. Arthur hadn't needed him tonight so he was free to sleep in his own, much more comfortable, bed.

Gaius' chambers were on a slight bend, which meant that you could see who was walking away, as long as they were within five paces of the door from either side. A flash of red caught Merlin's eye as he hurried to the door, but he thought very little of it. It was dark, lit torches lined the halls in this part of the castle and it was easy for your eyes to play tricks on you at this time.

Still, it didn't stop Merlin from raking his eyes around the work room and his own chambers, checking that Gaius was alright and hunting for anything that looked odd. He even checked under the beds, fearing that it had been Morgana, planting another mandrake root for some reason Merlin didn't quite know of yet.

With a relieved sigh, Merlin was certain that the flash of red he had seen wasn't a cloak at all and really had been just the flame flickers of the torches. He'd searched everywhere for something deadly, a trap or poison Morgana had placed somewhere, but there had been nothing.

Merlin swallowed uneasily, reaching for a goblet of water. He drank a whole cupful in one go before reaching for the water jug, draining it of the last inch or so of water smoothly. A drop dribbled onto his chin and Merlin wiped it away, yawning as he opened his door and fell onto his bed.

He only just managed to kick his boots off before a wave of tiredness overcame him and he closed his eyes, sinking into a deep sleep.

**You can't hide anything from me, Merlin.**

**~ Arthur:**

**I wouldn't dream of it.**

**~ Merlin**

Arthur sat on the stone ledge of his window, ornate knife in one hand and apple in the other. He sliced a segment of the apple off, popping it in his mouth and crunching down on the juicy fruit. The Prince knew he should be asleep by now, especially as he had his father's council in the morning and wanted to be well rested to appear before the subjects of Camelot, but there was too much troubling his mind.

Separating his personal life from his duties had always been easy for Arthur. He'd be trained to do so since infancy and it was simple to continue as if it never happened, as if Guinevere had never left. He remembered their last kiss, so brief and so innocent, just before he had set off on his quest to the Fisher King's land. If he'd known that would be their last kiss…

Arthur didn't know. He couldn't have refused the quest, for that would have brought shame on the Pendragon name. His whole future had depended on that quest, his security as future King had rested on it.

Arthur could remember the moment so clearly. He had just been thinking his knees had hurt and that he'd never get a quest when it had unfurled on him, wispy and cold. As soon as that had hit him, though, Arthur had been covered in a layer of warmth, as if someone had wrapped a blanked over his shoulders.

Time had slowed then, in the throne room of Camelot, and Arthur had known. Uther had praised to high heavens that magic was driven out of his land, but Arthur now knew the truth. Magic would never be driven out of Camelot, it was part of the land they had built on, the air they all breathed.

It was what told him to go to the land of the Fisher King. It was the feeling that had kept him warm in the throne room, protected his knees from locking as he knelt there all night. Magic was the reason he'd brought the golden trident home and yet he was supposed to turn a blind eye to it?

Even the keeper of the bridge on his quest had stated he'd need magic, though how magic had actually come into play was beyond Arthur's comprehension. The Fisher King himself was rumoured to be the most powerful magician in the world, still living even to this day. While that wasn't true, his lands had been prosperous and powerful… he had respected the land and her magic, unlike Uther had.

But there was something else the magic had whispered to him. Something he'd never truly thought of in such lights before. It had whispered a name to him, curling and wrapping it with hints of greatness, of a kingdom Arthur would one day rule. The images had been flashes, but Arthur didn't mind about that. He didn't care to see his future and had, instead, focused on the cause of these images.

The magic had gripped at him, tightening its claws until it wrapped around Arthur's very soul. Beside the naming of the Fisher King, there had been one more thought driven into his mind.

Merlin.

His manservant's name had been repeated, over and over again. Just that one word, that single name, but it had held more weight than just a man from a village.

Taking another slice out of the apple, Arthur chewed thoughtfully, staring at the stars. He'd had plenty of time to think recently and, while the whole court viewed his task as finished, Arthur was starting to have his doubts.

He hadn't completed the retrieval of the golden trident alone. Merlin and Gwaine had helped him… but it wasn't their help that now bothered him. It was the fact that he didn't feel like he'd finished. There was still a tingle, a small itch, that hadn't faded.

He pushed the blade of his knife into the apple, digging to cut a deep section. The edge slipped on the juice and sliced Arthurs thumb a little, causing blood to dribble down his knuckle. He cursed, dropping both apple and knife and sticking his thumb in his mouth.

The metallic taste of fresh blood invaded his taste buds and even a seasoned warrior such as Arthur couldn't resist wrinkling his nose. Someone rapped against his door and Arthur removed his thumb for a moment, to allow whoever it was in.

"Arthur I just wanted to ask-"Worry creased Morgana's brow and she darted forwards, closing the distance between them in a few strides. "What happened?" she demanded, taking Arthur's hand in her own and looking into his eyes.

"It's nothing to worry about Morgana," Arthur drawled, frowning at her and pulling his arm back. He left his place between desk and window, moving to the long table he had in his room. Whatever Morgana wanted, it was hardly an appropriate hour and he certainly wasn't in the mood for a verbal war with the woman.

"You're right." Arthur could hear a certain note to her words and he lowered his eyes suddenly, knowing what was coming. "It's just… I was always hurt when…" she sniffed, "When I was captured and I hate to see anyone hurt." Morgana took a deep breath, "Most of all you. I mean you're the Crown Prince and you mean so much to everyone."

Arthur shook her words off, tilting his head slightly and turning to face her. "It's nothing, really. Just a small cut. Now what is it you wanted?"

Morgana looked at Arthur's desk, eyes roaming on the objects placed there. She turned to Arthur a second later, her cloak pooling around her, scarlet red shocking against her pale skin and dark hair.

"I need your help. I wish to go for a ride tomorrow but…" she snorted, turning her head away from Arthur. "Uther won't let me go alone." Her eyes were bright as she looked to Arthur and he knew what she'd ask. "I wanted… hoped, really, that you could accompany me. Just the two of us."

Arthur hesitated. He wanted to, he really did, but there was that small itch in him that seemed to intensify at the idea. Still, he couldn't refuse Morgana without a proper reason, and somehow 'an odd itch' didn't quite cut it.

"I have to attend council tomorrow," the Prince said instead, bowing his head as he ran a hand over his table, brushing away non-existent dirt. "But perhaps in the evening? Our time would be shortened but it would be better than nothing."

Morgana broke into a smile, moving forward to take Arthur's wound-free hand. She clutched it tightly, nodding enthusiastically.

"Thank you, it means so much to me." With one last smile, Morgana drew her cloak in her hand, the fabric pooling from her hands and over her arm. She turned back once, flashing white teeth with a glorious smile, but it did little to ease Arthur's thoughts.

He hadn't been truly alone with Morgana for a long stretch since she had returned from her capture and subsequent imprisonment. It wasn't that he didn't want to ride out with her, but more that he was unsure how much she had changed. He loved her, she was the sister he'd never had after all, but there was something… different about her now. Something Arthur couldn't put his finger on and it unsettled him.

It seemed that everyone was hiding something these days and Arthur padded back to the window, picking up the fallen – ruined – apple and knife. He tossed the fruit out of the window and wiped the blade clean before re-sheathing it and tucking it into a desk drawer. Even he, the Prince of Camelot, was keeping secrets. His quest wasn't finished yet, but he didn't have any ideas on how to complete it.

All he knew was that Merlin was somehow involved.

Then again, when wasn't he?

**.**

Merlin was asleep. He knew that, could feel that even if he really wanted to, he wouldn't wake up. Reaching out with his magic, he was reassured that Morgana was in the castle, the dull thrum of Morgause and Mordred's taint beating along with her heart. She wasn't asleep just yet, but sleep would come soon.

With the attitude of someone who had a fantastic night's sleep approaching, Merlin rolled onto his side, burrowing into his sheets and blankets. He was on the brink of dreaming, but too far gone to control this one.

Of course, as they always had been, there was some truth in Merlin's dreams. He was no Seer, as Morgana was, but he did have some gift at the prophetic arts. It was remembering the dreams that he struggled with.

This was different though.

Gwen was there, her face pale as she leant against Lancelot, eyes full of tears. Her hands rose to her face as she broke into sobs, shaking her head. Behind her, supporting her, was Lancelot. He too had tears rolling down his cheeks and had turned his head into his lover's hair.

Beside them Merlin could see other people he recognised, from scullery maids to stable boys. Gaius was amongst them, his lips drawn thinly and, as with everyone else, he too had tears in his eyes and tracks down his cheeks.

The dream shifted and there was King Uther, but not as Merlin knew him. Here was a broken man, an old, frail and tired man who looked as if he could hardly command a trained dog to sit, let alone a whole nation.

Morgana, ever perfect and ever beautiful, had a veil covering her head. The jet black material did nothing to hide the smirk on her lips, though, and horror hit Merlin in the chest.

Arthur wasn't there.

"This has to happen."

Merlin saw a man standing before him. The stranger as so familiar and it wasn't until a moment later that he realises this isn't a man. He was taller than Merlin remembered, but the eyes were unmistakable. The boy was of Druids, the very same that Merlin saved.

"It will happen," Mordred said, his lips remaining still. Telepathy then, a skill admired in the Druids.

"When?" Merlin asks, and even in his sleep there was no doubt of his power. He could feel the crackle under his skin, calling to Mordred.

"Too soon." Mordred took a step forward. "But you are prepared Emrys. More than prepared."

The dream faded, Merlin shifting into a deeper sleep, far beyond the reach of dreams. Mordred's eyes lingered in his mind's eye for a fraction of a second more and, not for the first time, Merlin wondered what Mordred hoped to achieve, what side he was on.

There were no answers. Mordred was on Mordred's side and that was that.

Just how Merlin was on Arthur's side. It was a fact, like you needed air to live.

**.**

The air was crisp as Morgana mounted her horse, eyes scanning the attendants. She smiled briefly at Arthur, ducking behind her hair to hide the nervousness in her eyes. Arthur had been able to pull some strings and they were to ride out alone, given passage for a few hours.

"Come on then," Arthur whispered to his horse and Morgana hid her smirk. He was still the same fool who talked to his horse before his companion. She was still shocked at how much Arthur hadn't changed.

They rode south of the castle, ambling between trotting and walking. The horses were content to relax, allowing Morgana and Arthur to journey in silence. There had been a few stubbed attempts at conversation, mainly as Morgana couldn't bear to speak.

Excitement welled in her chest, along with fear. Hope was there too, just hidden by the fear. She had planned treason before, but never had it included a direct link to herself.

It was Morgause's idea, of course. She had confided in Morgana how Emrys had been impossible to locate, but that she'd managed to sense his power once. In that time she had seen the greatness their prophesied Warlock held and it had blinded her. She had seen the pureness of their King (for lack of a better word) and hadn't wanted to sully him with the tyranny of the male Pendragon line.

So Morgana was to be placed on the throne. A sorceress Queen prepared for their King's return. Wherever he was, Emrys was biding his return and, try as she might, not even Morgause had been able to get the Druids to help her.

There had been one boy alone who had, according to her sister, said he knew of Emrys, but offered nothing more. He was a child, probably didn't know what he was talking about and instead wanted the attention Morgana had thought, but a tiny seed of doubt had clouded her mind.

If this… Emrys was so great and all powerful, why hadn't he stopped the slaughter of their kin? If he was this King of magic, why did he hide when he was being sought out? Who was he to stand back and let hundreds of innocents burn and then claim a title as grand as the most powerful sorcerer in the world?

He didn't deserve it. If anyone did, Morgana knew she could fit the title. Morgause had commented on her strength, saying there was so much she had yet to learn, but it was like watching a duck take to water. Morgana may not have been born magical, but she was the closest thing.

Which was why she would be the one to lace the trap.

"Draw Arthur away from Camelot, but make sure he's alone. Bring him to the edge of the woods and we shall deal with him there," Morgause had whispered and Morgana had obeyed.

An evening wind blew over the open space of water before them and the beauty of the lake struck Morgana. It was a fitting place for a Prince to die and she wished that, when she finally died, that she would be given a glimpse at somewhere so beautiful.

"It's amazing," Arthur muttered, breaking the silence as he dismounted from his horse, striding over to the water's edge. "It feels familiar though," he said softly and Morgana had to strain her ears to catch the sentence.

It was possible Arthur had been here before, not that she'd expected it. Still, even if he had been here before it hardly mattered.

"It's beautiful," she said instead, coming to stand beside her brother. He smiled down at her, a little unsure, before he noticed the hem of her dress.

"You're getting wet," Arthur pointed out, raising an eyebrow. Morgana shrugged him off. It didn't matter. The tranquillity of the lake seeped into them and Morgana saw Arthur close his eyes and raise his chin slightly to the moon.

Oh how she wished she could do the same. To be so carefree for a moment, enjoy what was around them. As Morgana let her eyelids close, a twig snapped behind them and the horses whickered uncertainly. The moment was broken and she stepped away from the shore, eyes afire with the task she had aided in.

"Morgana, come here," Arthur hissed, reaching for the sword at his side. He moved away from the muddy bank, trying to protect Morgana.

"Sister of mine, how well you've done this time." Triumph welled in Morgana's veins as Morgause stepped from the shadows of the trees. She was followed by a group of cloaked men and women – sorcerers that Morgause had rallied in the execution of the Prince.

"Morgana?" Arthur's voice was small, belonging to a man less worthy than a Prince. It was the sting of betrayal and the poison that seeped in after.

"Do you know how long I've waited for this day Arthur Pendragon?" Morgana laughed, the sound echoing over the lake behind them. "Too long." Arthur's face dropped and Morgana could see his hope that she was joking slip from his shoulders. The naïve child was finally gone and now Morgana could play.

"For me to be denied my birth right…" Morgana shook her head violently. "Do you know how it feels? We share a father and yet all I know are lies. I should thank Merlin for poisoning me! Despite his intention of murder, I was able to get rid of Camelot for a year."

Arthur had never been an idiot and, as his eyes flickered to look at Morgause, Morgana could see the answer forming in his mind.

"My sister took me in. While the rest of Camelot thought I was subject to torture, only one person knew the truth. Why do you think I wanted you alone? Merlin's a fool, but a ridiculously loyal one."

Arthur's voice was as hard as stone when he spoke. "What have you done to him," he said, voice low and eyes cold.

"Nothing of consequence. He means little to us, just an altered sleeping potion. No one will think anything of it and he won't even realise you're dead until it's too late." The words slip easily from Morgana's throat and she turned to Morgause, smiling brightly at her fellow witch.

"The rightful heir of Camelot will claim the throne," Morgause said to Arthur, stepping forwards with her hand outstretched.

Morgana had seen animals cornered before. They either fought back or withdrew in on themselves. Arthur did neither of these things. She'd half expected him to barrel on with his sword, cutting through them all and destroying them… but even he knew he was no match for roughly ten magic users.

He didn't flinch. His eyes remained locked on Morgause, jaw set stiffly and hand gripping his sword. It was pointless against magic, but Arthur was a knight of Camelot and so had been trained to kill since birth.

"Ic begietende se brēostcofa ac bindende hit tō se eard!"

Morgana could feel the magic in her own body rise to the call and held her hands out, repeating the spell to bind Arthur's heart to the land. The other sorcerers with them had glinting eyes, helping to take down the Prince.

In one moment, Morgana saw Arthur fall from the future king to a man. He fell to his knees, eyes rolling back in his head as his sword fell from his hand. It slipped behind him, half in the water and half in the mud.

Arthur slipped as he fell, but Morgana knew he would never feel it. The spell had bound Arthur to the land and, in doing so, had taken his life from his body. It was irreversible by science and unfathomable to undo by magic. What it would take… Morgause had admitted she would never be able to break it, even with a thousand magic users at her disposal.

"Tonight we celebrate the return of the Lady Morgana to Camelot!" Morgause said to the clearing, facing the lake. Her eyes were glinting, a testimony to the strength of the spell. "She will return as if attacked and inform the King of the disappearance of his only son. They will find him here in a few days, only to be too late."

Morgana avoids looking at Arthur, smiling instead as Morgause parades her around, laughing with her sister.

As Morgana rode back alone to Camelot, there is no need to shape her expression to fear. It is already there, in her chest, but it is not the weight of being the sole heir now that weighs on her. It is the weight of unexpected guilt – and seeing Arthur's glassy eyes as he fell repeating in her mind.

Has she done the right thing?

She shouldn't question her actions; it wouldn't be what Morgause wanted.

But still…

**.**


	3. Chapter 3

Morgana entered her chambers alone, hair wild with twigs and leaves strewn in it. Her dress was ripped and mud caked her skin, but she had succeeded.

It had been too easy to run into the throne room, interrupting Uther dining with a few selected members of court. She had stumbled, sobbing, while people had gathered around her. Uther had been by her side and she'd seen his face, so full of worry and so dreadfully pathetic.

"Who did this to you?" he'd demanded, anger blazing.

"I don't know," the waver hadn't been hard to fake, after all she had to lie to the King. One foot wrong and her head would be separated from her body in a second. "One minute we were alone and then…" she'd sobbed, burying her head in Uther's lap. "It was horrible. They hurt us and…" another set of sobs, to which Uther had rubbed a hand soothingly on her back.

"Send for Gaius!" he'd demanded, turning back to Morgana.

"They took Arthur," her chest had heaved at the words, tears spilling down her cheeks as she looked at her King, her father. "They took him and there were too many."

She'd bowed her head. "They had magic," she'd spat, and Uther, poor, predictable Uther, had spun his rage, leaving Gaius to attend to her and demanding every knight prepare to march in search of the Crown Prince.

Gaius had been silent when cleaning her wounds and Morgana had announced shortly after that she wanted to be alone. She was positive that the physician knew about her magic, but what Merlin had told him and what he suspected, she couldn't fathom. She doubted he knew that she was the one to aid in Arthur's death, but – as Morgause had reminded her time and time again – she couldn't be too careful.

And now she was back in her room. Arthur was by a lake, bound to the land forever, dead to the mortal eye. His heart had stopped and his breathing frozen, forever left to the land as his soul was bound. The Prince was chained to his kingdom, unable to leave and it would drive him mad, wishing that his soul could be destroyed as easily as his body had been.

When anyone found him, Merlin included, it would be far too late. By the time Merlin woke more than a day would have passed (in fact, Morgana thought, Merlin would be waking roughly this time the next day), and Arthur's body would be beyond any stimulation. The spell wouldn't have been broken even if they could return a pulse to Arthur's body, but Morgana had learnt not to place all her eggs in one basket.

She combed the foliage from her hair and washed her skin. Since Gwen had vanished, Morgana had been switching maidservants, but she didn't like to call them for this task. This was far more personal, her treason, and she would indulge in it alone, stripping mud from her body as if they were her sins.

What was done was done. It was too late for anyone, and surely this proved that magic was the strongest. In only a few words they had decimated a kingdom, more than Uther had done even with his high death toll against magic users.

"We will not be swept under the carpet," Morgana said to her mirror, practicing the words for when she'd stand over Uther's deathbed, smirking as he died. "And you will suffer eternally for the pain you have inflicted upon my people."

They were her people, her kingdom. Uther would be broken when they returned Arthur's corpse to Camelot, but Morgana would play the doting ward, looking after her king. She'd make sure she did all the right things, said all the correct words, but she'd whittle him down. Uther would be a broken man and Morgana would rise as Camelot's graceful queen, respectful but oh-so-powerful.

Picking a wilted leaf from her hair, Morgana thought of what would happen after her coronation. Would Morgause's King arrive in all his splendour? Emrys, the Druid's prophet and Morgause's King, but who was he to Morgana? She didn't know him, had never heard of him until her sister had spoken of her plans. And Morgause had never bowed to anyone, but the sheer respect in her voice whenever she mentioned the name Emrys was enough to fill Morgana with awe of this man.

So where was he? He'd let them all suffer, most of all Morgana. How dare he leave them all, picking and choosing when he wanted to come along and resume his 'greatness'!

She knew Morgause wanted Emrys to lead and Morgana was sure she was the one Morgause deemed destined to rule alongside him, but she didn't want to bow down to such a hideous man. She didn't want her King so be someone so frivolous that he would decide when it was okay to have suffering amongst his own and when he'd actually help.

She needed to find this Emrys, before they took Camelot for their own. Morgause was seeking to find him to soothe her worries anyway, but Morgana had one tiny secret she'd kept even from her sister.

The Druid boy she had risked life and limb for. The Druids knew of this Emrys and maybe he could help?

She needed rest first before she attempted such a powerful magic, but Morgana was committed to this now. She'd find this Emrys and make him bow to her own whim.

**.**

Merlin woke from his sleep irritable and puffy eyed, as if he'd slept for far too long. Light poured in his window and he wondered why Arthur hadn't sent for him yet. In fact, even if Arthur hadn't sent someone down to berate his manservant on the odd occasion he forgot to show his face, Gaius usually woke him with plenty of time.

Squinting at the light outside, it was clear that it was nearing midday. What was going on?

"Gaius?" Merlin pushed his bedroom door open, closing his eyes as a throbbing pain made itself known in his head. What had he done last night?

The physician was as Merlin had never seen him before. The room was free of the usual candles and bubble of experimentation or remedies. It unsettled Merlin and he moved across the room, worry pouring out of him.

"Gaius?" He asked again, a little louder and a little more worried. Okay, so a lot more worried, but it caught Gaius' attention and the old man looked at Merlin sadly.

"Merlin," he whispered and the warlock narrowed his eyes. What the hell was going on? "You're finally awake."

An uneasy feeling settled in Merlin's stomach and he frowned.

"It appears someone slipped a powerful sleeping drought into your drink," Gaius explained, looking up from where he sat on one of his benches. "You've been unconscious for over a day."

Shock coursed through Merlin as Gaius' words hit him. The flash of red he'd seen in the corridor – evidently not a trick of the mind and, despite his best scouring, Merlin had been unable to find out that it had been a trap. He'd failed, but to what extent?

He remembered the dream and the uneasy feeling gutted him, ripping his soul through his chest. It couldn't be, not now.

"Arthur?" the name slipped from Merlin's lips and, from Gaius' grave look, he knew he wasn't fully prepared for what had happened.

"Morgana took him for a ride. Just the two of them." Gaius dipped his head. "She returned alone, claiming she was attacked by armed men. Arthur was taken by them, or so she claimed."

Merlin shook his head, refusing to accept it. "No," he moaned, starting to pace. "No it can't be." It's a stupid idea. Merlin was unconscious for one day and now Arthur was gone? Ridiculous. Surely he'd be able to cope for one day at least?

Not against Morgana. Not against Morgana, Morgause and who knows who else. Not even the mighty Arthur could stand against two powerful witches (at least) alone. Merlin didn't know if even he could stand against the pair, despite what literature the Druids had written and whatever Kilgharrah believed. They were powerful and Arthur…

Oh god. Arthur had never stood a chance.

"Gaius," Merlin moaned, sinking to his knees on the physician's quarters. "He can't-"

"I do not think he's dead Merlin." Gaius' voice was like a beacon to Merlin and he raised his head. His eyes, that were shining with tears, dimmer a little as hope creeps back to his belly.

"Think about it logically, Morgana hasn't made a claim to the crown yet and if Arthur were truly dead, why wouldn't she have brought the body back?" The statement rang around Merlin's head and he wanted Gaius to be right, more so than ever. He nodded, standing up and wiping the moisture that had collected around his eyes.

"I'm going to look for him," Merlin promised, running back to his room to shove boots on. He was wearing the same clothes he'd been in for a few days now, but he didn't care. Arthur was out there, on the verge of death most likely, or captured, and every second counted.

"Take your jacket," Gaius hands it to him, helping Merlin into the leather. A familiar shape bumped against Merlin's hip bone and he ran a hand quickly over the glass bottle, the water from the lake of Avalon a symbol of hope in his own hands. "And be careful. Guards are everywhere; Uther has gone mad with grief and worry. He's alone in his chambers, but if he found out that you were awake…"

Merlin catches Gaius' eye. "Uther has not asked for you yet, but I fear he will."

The unsaid notion that Uther will pin Arthur's death on Merlin is clear. Merlin wasn't there, as a good manservant should have been, and was, instead, in his chambers, poisoned. While it could have (and was) been the work of the same person out for Arthur, it would be suspicious to the grieving mind of Uther Pendragon.

The scariest thing, though, was that Merlin knew he'd accept the King's punishment. He hadn't been there to protect Arthur when he'd needed him the most and now… now they were all suffering.

"I'll bring him back," Merlin nodded to Gaius and the physician was reminded of many times where Merlin had strode from their quarters, a half-formed plan in his mind, but his heart fully in it.

The man carried a heavy legacy, the legacy of the Dragonlords resting solely to him, the duty of restoring magic his alone, the task of reuniting magic to the land… there were so many things Merlin had yet to do, but it was as the Great Dragon had said. Merlin was but one side of a coin and Arthur the other. Without Arthur, Merlin would fall and there would be nothing anyone, not even the strongest Druids or the last dragon, could do.

"Good luck," Gaius whispered as Merlin left, sprinting away and leaving the door half open. Once again, it was down to Merlin, and Merlin alone.

**.**

It was almost as if he were dreaming. Arthur could almost believe that he was asleep, if not for the coldness he felt. That he'd never be in his bed, or even in the wilderness. It wasn't the kind of coldness you could protect against either, it was one that seeped into the soul and killed the body.

Not that his body was of much use at the moment. Without eyes, Arthur couldn't see his lifeless limbs, but through the earth he rested on and the water that lapped at his toes, he could sense the corpse, lying prone on the riverbank as the sun set.

No one had come near the lake since the sorcerers had left, the previous night. Not even animals had stirred the edge of the forest and the plants and trees were sighing mournfully, wilting away under Arthur's senses.

He wasn't a mortal anymore. The spell – he could feel it wrapped around his being like chains – had tied him to the land. He was connected irreversibly to the very magic of the land, the spirit of the forest if you preferred. He could feel everything, from the people settling to sleep over in Cenred's kingdom to a leaf blowing on the breeze, an inch away. He could feel it all at once, and yet felt nothing at all, both at the same time.

This was the power of magic. The power of life and death, circulating through him. Only, Arthur had no claim to the power, was simply tied to it. He couldn't touch it, couldn't use it and couldn't bend the chains that tied him. He was an onlooker to it all, sentenced to watch the ebb and flow of the whole world for all of time.

If he had a human body, Arthur knew he'd be panicking. As it was, he didn't have the capacity to panic, didn't have the capacity for anything, and instead could only feel as the world around him moved.

There was a doe, three leagues over, stripping bark. In the lake, there was a shoal of, fish, darting around the current. He could feel the sadness that stole over Camelot and wondered if it was always there. Was it because of his death? Or was it because his father had driven magic from the people?

Arthur would never know.

The mind he had on him now tried to comprehend what had happened. Arthur had been with Morgana, alone, riding by the lake. The witch Morgause had shown up with some other people – they too sorcerers – and had cast a form of binding spell, leaving Arthur's body to decay, but his soul and mind to join with the magic of the land, magic that would never fade.

Arthur felt the binding spell cocooning him, tightening around him, as he thought further. Morgana hadn't been captured it seemed, rather she'd gone to Morgause, to learn magic. Had she known magic before? It made sense… her dreams, her persistence that Uther's policies on magic were cruel and her demand to help – to name one – the Druid boy.

But, more disturbingly, she'd mentioned that Merlin had poisoned her. The same Merlin who saved portions of his rationed meals when they were on the hunt, just so that his horse had a little treat. The very Merlin who had spent his own money to bribe people that Arthur get the soap pressed with flowers, the kind the Prince would never admit to liking, but secretly he loved. The only person who understood Arthur more than anyone else in the world, the one who had stood by him through thick and thin, be it a dragon or amoured woman.

Merlin and murder never could go together.

Something shifted in the land and Arthur's soul lightened. If it could have been given a colour, it would have been a glowing white, as the land rejoiced to something. Arthur cast his 'gaze' wider, feeling for what had caused the ripple in the land, and he found it – in Camelot.

The sun hit the surface of the lake, but Arthur couldn't see the rays hitting the lake, spreading over to his former body. He couldn't see the shimmer under the water, nor the way his body looked as if it still had life in hit.

He could, however, feel something heading his way. The land was beginning to sing as Arthur could feel hoof beats, every single step pounding into his soul like a lifeline. The magic began to rise as whatever it was drew closer and closer, and Arthur felt himself joining in the song, humming his own being as the trees, the animals, the land, the water… every single part of the world called to the presence.

The presence arrived, a few hours later, to the cascade of one name. Things that shouldn't speak, such as trees and mud, all called out to the person running over, slipping over and skidding his knee in the water. Ungraceful, but so mighty and so alive, full of such purity that it almost burnt for Arthur's soul to see him.

Of course, he should have known it would be Merlin.

**.**

Merlin had taken a horse he got on well with. She wasn't the fastest steed in the stables, but she respected Merlin and he was able to guide her through the forests with ease. Their companionship shone through and she was prepared to go to lengths further than a faster horse may, simply because she trusted Merlin and he trusted her in return.

He didn't know exactly where to look. Morgana and Arthur had been riding in the southern forests surrounding Camelot, that much he'd managed to gather from sneaking around the guards as he'd escaped from the castle. But, other than that, he had no idea where Morgana had taken the Prince and so it was with desperation climbing at his throat that Merlin reigned in his horse as they reached a fork in the road.

Deciding on going left, Merlin turned his horse to the path that would – eventually – lead them to Cenred's kingdom. He dug his heels in a little too harsh, moving his hands forward in preparation for the surge as his horse began her canter, but was instead faced with a horse that had decided it didn't want to move.

"No, no, no, please," Merlin begged, dipping his head into the coarse mane hair. He pulled on the reins sharply, trying to jerk her towards the left, when she snorted, whinnying and falling on her hind quarters, both fore legs slightly rising in the air.

"I don't have time for this!" Merlin looked around, wondering what it was that had made the usually complacent horse firm in her decision. His hand gripped tightly at the pommel of his saddle, still unsteady from her rear.

Merlin pushed down into his stirrups, pulling with all his might and kicking his legs, trying to steer his horse. She pivoted round, head high and the whites of her eyes flashing, before she backed up slightly, side-stepping until she reached the right-hand side of the forked road.

Merlin remembered something Gaius had once told him, about the Old Religion and the ties to the land magic held. The Old Religion was born from the very earth they lived on and derived from all the plants, animals and life around them. Magic was drawn from the connections between the living things, the land and the dead things.

This meant that animals were closer tied to the land and the Old Religion than humans who had turned their backs on magic, or humans who had not learnt to listen to the land. Since Uther had decreed the Great Purge, people had closed their minds to the land and, not knowing how, Merlin had been unable to open up and listen.

But his horse…

Merlin remembered a time when Arthur's horse had stuck to one path, anger firing in its eyes as Arthur tried to spur it on the other direction. Morgause had enchanted the horse, but without the connection to the land, the steed would have been unable to find where it was it had needed to go.

"Lead on then," Merlin muttered, lengthening the rein in his hand and sitting back in the saddle. Wherever it was the horse was taking him, Merlin wouldn't once try to convince himself he could stop the progress. As with everything, he had to let it take its course…

He just hoped that this particular course would indeed lead him to Arthur.

They alternated between trotting and walking for a few hours, picking up on deer trails through the forest, with the horse leading the man. Merlin kept his eyes alert for any signs, clinging to all the knowledge Arthur had tried to install in him when they'd been out on hunts. Were there any footprints? Any markings on the trees? Any bushes looking particularly odd? So many questions, but Merlin's eyes couldn't pick out any of these things. He wasn't trained to hunt and hadn't the faintest idea on what to look for.

So, instead , he chose to use what he did know. Closing his eyes to the beat of his horse's trot, Merlin searched for his magic. It was somewhat dulled from the lengthy, potion-induced sleep he had suffered from, but it responded to his whim, as it always had.

There was his connection to Morgana, Mordred, Morgause, all the other magic users in the world, burning brightly. The strands connecting him to his kin were intertwined, thousands of little strands curled together, compacting and wrapped around his magical core. He could feel the strands of Morgana and Morgause thrumming powerfully, satisfactorily, as well as a handful of others. Accomplices perhaps?

Mordred's thread is strangely content, humming away with his magic but not overly active. Mordred clearly had no part in Arthur's capture and, for some inexplicable reason, Merlin felt relieved.

Then there was another thread, thicker and pulsing like a heartbeat. There was one core thread, wrapped around which were smaller, wilted strands. This was his Dragonlord heritage, the living thread that connected him to Kilgharrah and the dead threads connecting him to his past, a stark reminder that Kilgharrah and he were the last of their kin.

Merlin pushed these strands aside, ignoring the buzz of magic as he did so. His horse continued on their path and Merlin searched for the one thing he needed right now, the only thing that could mean anything.

It was small and almost lifeless, like a small, frightened bird, hidden at the back of a cage. Merlin cradled it with his own magic, running his power over the strand. This was what connected him to Arthur, a bond between them that Kilgharrah would call destiny, Uther would name loyalty and Gaius would say friendship beyond bounds.

They were all right, of course. His bond to Arthur was those three things, but it was far more. Merlin had spent the last few weeks fearing the feeling, unsure exactly what it meant, but there was no denying the relief that flooded him when his magic had sought out their connection. In some way, Arthur was still here. Faint so it seemed, but he was there, and the feeling that overwhelmed Merlin no longer scared him as it had before.

He couldn't name it. Not because he didn't want to – he realised now that Arthur might be lost to him that he wanted to scream it from Camelot's tallest tower – but because he simply couldn't. For the same reason Arthur had never been able to admit his love for Gwen or the way Lancelot had stolen away in the night, unable to stay for the pain he believed he'd cause.

All Merlin was to Arthur was his manservant. His male manservant. While Cenred's kingdom – where Merlin had grown up – still preached to the gods of the Old Religion (being far more lax about magic, embracing it in certain circumstances even), Uther's great Purge had overturned the religion of the land. They fell to one God now and while many of Camelot's subjects turned a blind eye to what was illegal and legal under their New Religion, members of Uther's court had no choice to obey.

Which, in layman's terms, meant that lying with a member of the same sex was forbidden in the eyes of Uther's religion. Arthur would follow his father's example, despite any lingering looks or heavy touches anyone may pass to him, out on hunts with the knights or when a new noble dined at court and turned their attention, briefly, to the Crown Prince.

Arthur could have his pick of anyone he wanted and no one would think anything of it. Merlin knew that he could lie with a man and even Uther would likely pay no attention… but it would torment Arthur. A Prince who was faithful beyond duty to his king, destined to respect his father. They may quarrel, and goodness knows they did, but Merlin would never come between father and son, despite how much he lo- wanted Arthur.

Which was why he would never reveal his magic unless he had to, to protect Arthur from choosing between Uther and Merlin.

And to protect himself. Why would Arthur choose Merlin? He might think of choosing his manservant, but it couldn't realistically happen… and if it did… well, Merlin knew Arthur would resent him for eternity.

Merlin's horse stumbled and he was shaken from his thoughts, loosening his magic grip on Arthur's connection. He breathed in heavily, blinking as he took in somewhat familiar surroundings. Time seemed to slow around him as Merlin's eyes raked the land, trees bending their branches towards the warlock like people reaching to a much loved king.

The land exploded with power and Merlin's eyes burnt to a crisp gold as magic welled through him, pouring into him from every inch of the forest.

"Merlin…"

He could head a voice and he guided his horse forwards, feeling the press of millions of living spirits, none belonging to a human. While he had been told so many times before that the plants and animals were connected to the Old Religion, he hadn't truly realised it.

Now, feeling their joy at his arrival, he realised it wholly. No longer was he Merlin of Ealdor, but he was one with the forest, rejoicing with them and feeling the Old Religion in his blood. Gaius had said it before, but Merlin wasn't a mortal creature. He was born of the Old Religion, born to the likes of dragons, unicorns, phoenixes, creatures that were born of magic. He, like these creatures, had relied on magic before basic instincts and Merlin had been able to control the world before he'd been able to walk.

"Come, Merlin."

There was a strange presence in the air as Merlin fanned out his magic, reaching every crevice of the forest he could to reassure the magic of the land that he was here, that he would protect them as they protected and hailed him.

His horse stopped and Merlin dismounted, time still running in slow motion. The shores of the lake lapped up water slowly and the leaves on surrounding trees moved soundlessly, slowly, through the wind.

With magic crackling at his fingertips, Merlin's eyes settled on the body lying prone on the ground, silver chainmail sullied by mud and legs caked in mud.

"No…" he whispered, rushing through the long grass and down the slippery river bank until he landed, on his knees, beside Arthur's body. Water splashed at his knee, but Merlin paid no attention, eyes only for Arthur as he hastened to unbuckle the armour at his neck, reaching to try and find a pulse he knew he would never feel.

"Merlin," a voice said, again, and Merlin's hands stilled. He would recognise that voice anywhere, though how he wished he wouldn't.

Turning, but keeping both hands firmly pressed to Arthur as if they alone would bring him back, his eyes met a softened gaze. He swallowed thickly, tears springing to his eyes (though whether they were for Arthur alone or a combination of things, Merlin couldn't say), and he had to look away.

The water rippled as the Lady of the Lake strode from the water, a fine dress hanging from her shoulders. She was as pale as Merlin remembered, but her smile was so much more welcome that the agonised pain he'd become accustomed to seeing in Freya's eyes.

"Fr…" Merlin was unable to speak.

"I told you I would repay your kindness." Her voice was soft and she crouched beside Merlin, taking one of his hands in her own. She pressed her free hand to Merlin's face before looking down at Arthur.

"They bound him to the land, ripping his soul from his mortal body and chaining it to the land." Freya looked at Merlin sadly, removing her hand from his cheek as a tear ran down from his left eye. "There may yet be some Arthur Pendragon in the forest, a remainder of his mortal life, but it won't be long before he gives in and succumbs to the Old Religion."

The words fell heavily on Merlin's shoulders. Arthur? Give in? It was a preposterous idea. Arthur was the last person who would give up, running foolishly to such lengths that, had Merlin not been there, he'd have died – but as a happy man protecting his kingdom.

"H-he wouldn't." The words burnt in Merlin's throat. Freya couldn't lie to him, he knew that much, and Arthur would fall to the thrall of the deepest, most ancient magic.

Freya's hand moved to Merlin's hair, pushing his head back so that he looked into her eyes. They were honest, free of the fear she had carried after falling under the Bastet curse. There was more there though, a wisdom that Merlin had never seen.

"Then you have to stop it." Her hand shifted, moving down Merlin's arm to his jacket pocket.

The water from Avalon, the gift from the Fisher King. Had the King known this would happen, was this what the water was intended for?

"In this bottle, you hold the power of Avalon. With that, you can control the flow of life without the counterbalance of death. It is the sole time that giving life will not lead to taking a life." Freya's voice was soft and Merlin found it easy to remember why he'd fallen in love with her.

"You can choose. The water will bring someone back to the living." She smiled, so warm, kind and caring. Merlin's heart ached as the world slowed even further, hardly anything moving as he pressed his lips to hers, gently and reassuringly.

It wasn't anything like he'd remembered. There was no desperation behind the kiss, no tingle of power as they separated. Freya's lips, while warm, felt odd and Merlin realised that she was not quite alive… and that he had the choice.

For once, how easy it would be to cast away his destiny, let Morgause and Morgana do what they wanted and do the simple thing. He could make Freya a life she had never had, move to some distant village and live an easy, plain life, the likes his own father had dreamt of but never received. Camelot could fall, what use was Uther anyway? All the pain and suffering he had caused to the land and magic. Surely he deserved it?

Except, Merlin couldn't feel like that. He'd always known, truthfully, that he couldn't have a future with Freya, and now he had the chance, he didn't want that future. He didn't want a simple life, he didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps and die afraid of a future he had run from.

Kilgharrah needed him. Gaius needed him. His mother needed him. Arthur needed him, despite what he'd say. To some extent, even Uther needed him… and Merlin needed to make the right choice.

"Thank you," Merlin chose to say, his eyes free of tears as he moved apart from Freya. She smiled, understandingly, before pressing a kiss to Merlin's brow.

In that kiss, a tingle of magic flowed into his consciousness. It was magic that had been taught to Freya from the land, magic that she was merely passing to him. She had tested him, as Kilgharrah had said he would be, and the weight of the Old Religion pressed against his head, like a crown to announce his worthiness, his ability and pureness of heart.

Merlin took the bottle of water from his pocket with trembling fingers and looked at Arthur. He was muddied, almost beyond recognition, but he was still the same old Arthur that Merlin would risk everything for.

"I'm glad you have him," Freya whispered, moving to Arthur's far side, opposite Merlin. Merlin remembered a conversation he'd had with Arthur, weeks ago after Gwen had left Camelot.

He uncorked the bottle and smiled at Arthur's prone form.

"I'm sorry I could not love you how I love him," Merlin said, eyes meeting Freya's and he moved his hand.

As Merlin swallowed the last drop of the water, his eyes met Freya's and he let the bottle fall to the ground. Her face was pale, eyes wide in shock. He gave her a wry grin, letting her know that it was alright, that everything would be okay.

And then, he was burning and freezing, growing and shrinking as the waters of Avalon broke through the mortality in his body. The gates of Avalon waited for Merlin and he closed his eyes to the forest and lake, calling upon every inch of power he had, cloaking himself in it and preparing for what he was about to endure.

One thought broke through the magic building in him and it was with a smile that Merlin stepped onto the plane of immortality. He would protect Arthur at any cost, no matter what that meant for him.

**.**

Morgana had been taught to scry by Morgause, but she'd never undertaken such a task on her own before. She willed the water to show her Mordred, connect with him, hint where he could be, but it stared sullenly back at her, reflective and unresponsive to her attempts.

Never before had a spell failed her and she wondered what it was that she was doing wrong.

"Brim: ic ābanne ēow tō gecyðan mec se cniht, Mordred."

Magic sprung from her as she commanded the water to show her Mordred and, finally, the water flickered in the bowl. She could see images and knew instantly that this wasn't where Mordred was, but rather where he would be.

Morgause had commented she had the makings of a powerful Seer and that her magical talents would always be latent compared to the art of Seeing. While she had never said it aloud, Morgana knew that all of her magical talents would link back to her ability to see the future, and her suspicions were yet again confirmed as she looked into the scrying bowl.

It was a vision of the future and she wondered whether this would be her own future she would see. Sometimes Morgana dreamt of a different Camelot, where Arthur wasn't a Prince, Merlin was an old man and Guinevere was a noble princess of another land. She dreamt of a land where they were all friends and Uther a kind man. She'd dreamt of places where Ygraine had never died and magic never been outlawed… so many pasts and futures intertwined.

With her dreams, she could pick out what was her future, or at least her Camelot's future easily. In other arts, such as scrying, it was harder to do so and Morgana would never place a lot of trust in confirming what she saw here would be true.

Looking into the bowl, she could see Mordred. He was standing with a group of cloaked people, taller than she'd last seen him. He looked closer to being a man now, but he was clearly still a child. The Druids around him seemed to fall on his words and Morgana wondered if Mordred was in charge of this group.

They stood at the fringe of a forest, in the beginnings of a large clearing. Morgana cast her magic around and noticed Morgause standing at the edge of the forest too; a group of sorcerers around her, flanking her as they did when they'd bound Arthur.

They looked to be casting a spell and Morgana made out her own scarlet red cloak, next to Morgause, spell casting with her kin as it should be. Whatever the spell was, it was lengthy and complicated, with the magic sparking around them.

What on earth were they doing?

Morgana's curiosity was answered as the moonlight that had been shining over the clearing was blocked by a colossal form, and it was then that Morgana relaxed. This couldn't be her Camelot's future, she decided as she watched the Great Dragon land on the ground.

It appeared they had summoned the dragon, a whole fleet of sorcerers, exhausted from the magic it had taken. Except the dragon's eyes twinkled in amusement and laughter echoed from the scrying bowl.

Morgana had never faced the creature of the Old Religion, but Morgause had been delicate when telling her of Camelot's siege to the escaped dragon. She knew of the destruction it wrought but she had never seen it… and even through a spell of a once-future, somewhere, she could feel the power and might of the beast.

They hadn't summoned it. Whatever they believed to be doing, there was no way they could summon such a creature.

The dragon's laughter echoed as it turned its head, two figures emerging from the side of the wood someone had yet to show up on. Morgana's breath hitched as Morgause kneeled at once and she knew that this, the person about to step out of the darkness with his companion, was the mighty Emrys. The figures stepped to the edge of the shadows, a sword piercing through into the light. Morgana had seen the sword before, a long time ago – when Uther had been praising it. It was hard to forget such a sword when the King had been ready to knight an inanimate object for the sheer affection he'd shown it, but Morgana remembered icily that it had been made for Arthur.

It was impossible though… Arthur, well… he was dead. And this was clearly not her future… not if the dragon still lived.

"Morgana?"

Her control of the spell slipped and the water cleared of images, leaving the dragon's mocking laughter in her ears and the footsteps of Emrys as the only sign she'd been weaving a scrying spell. Morgause stood at the doorway, surprisingly relaxed in the very heart of Camelot.

"I bring great news," Morgause whispered, rushing forwards and taking Morgana's hands in her own. "We have managed to make contact with the Druids and they told us that if we seek Emrys then we need to summon the Great Dragon."

Morgana tried to conceal her shock. The dragon was dead… Arthur was said to have killed it.

"He's the last Dragonlord," Morgause said, voice hitching in awe as her eyes sparkled. "We summon his last dragon and he will come to us."

Morgana thought back to the scrying bowl. Morgause was speaking about collecting a group of witches and wizards together to find a spell that could summon the mighty dragon's attention, but Morgana couldn't focus on a word she was saying.

Had she seen their future? With the sword that belonged solely to Arthur alongside Emrys – the man who was supposed to be their king.

It couldn't be. Arthur was dead and Emrys would never turn his back on his people to align with Uther.

Yet the niggling sense wouldn't leave her and Morgana turned to Morgause with fire in her eyes.

"I would like to be beside you to summon the dragon," she stated, signing her own future. Morgause nodded with a smile, looking around the room.

Morgana looked back at the scrying bowl and wondered when, exactly, she had started drowning in her mistakes. She was supposed to be happy, with Camelot falling, and yet all she felt was an enormous pressure on her shoulders and the uneasy sense of betrayal.

From whom, though, she couldn't decide yet.

**.**


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin could feel the magic singing through his body. He was living off of it, instead of blood and air, and it seeped through every inch of him. His eyes were closed, but even so he could practically see what lay before him, even though he had only seen it clearly once before.

Golden eyes flew open, burning brighter as Avalon stood before him. The Sidhe flocked around the entrance, their leader looking at Merlin as if he knew, and – Merlin thought about it – it made sense that he probably did.

"So you have come," he hissed, flying low on the waters of a lake. Merlin couldn't see Arthur or Freya anymore and he knew, as with so many things right now, that he had passed from the mortal realm, stepping inside of Avalon itself.

"Yes," Merlin said quietly. The Sidhe held no love for him, he knew that after killing more than his fair share of them and ruining more than one of their plans, he wouldn't exactly be welcome in any court.

"Avalon should not welcome a mere mortal," the Sidhe Elder said, narrowing his eyes and hovering. "But here you are, without an ounce of blood in your human shell." He waved a hand dismissively.

Under the water before him, Merlin could see Avalon in its glory. He knew that the world wasn't underwater, but the lake merely served as a gateway. Stepping into the water would take him to the fabled land, the land of Kings and Legends, a place that he should not have gone to before his own death – if he had merited such a reward of course.

"Well?" The Elder drawled out his words and Merlin knew he was being mocked. "What are you waiting for? Surely your destiny lies that way." He gave a harsh chuckle, flitting across the surface of the water. The Sidhe with him on the surface fluttered too, their feet skimming the water just so.

For a brief second, Merlin couldn't move. He was about to descend to Avalon, a sacred place that was held high even in Uther's court. Sure it was still more of a myth to the King than the true afterlife of a worthy soul; it was still respected and revered. No human should step foot while they lived, that much was always whispered in with the tangle of legend.

The magic inside of him tingled, reminding him that he was no mortal any longer. Drinking the waters of Avalon had removed any trace of mortality, and destiny once again snapped at his heels, pulling him towards the warlock he was to become and the path that he must follow.

He stepped into the water for Arthur. Not because of some dragon's tale of destiny, not because he had to protect a king… he didn't plunge into the icy water, hitching his breath as his head ducked beneath the surface to protect a kingdom or stop an evil, he did it for Arthur. He did it because he loved Arthur.

That realization should have been monumental, but it really wasn't.

In his mind, Merlin could admit that he'd always loved Arthur, though it had developed immensely over the years they had spent together. He had never been hurt by Gwen and Arthur's courtship, never really been bothered about it and wanted them to be happy, truly he had. If Gwen would have made Arthur happy and stayed by his side, then Merlin would have been happy too.

Yet now, after he had pushed Gwen away from Camelot, breaking Arthur's heart in the process, he hadn't been able to keep himself away. Installing Guinevere to the throne would have ruined Albion and Merlin couldn't bear to see the one man he'd go beyond anything for break under her torrid affair.

Gwen could be happy now. Lancelot too, and – with time – Arthur would find someone much more suitable to be Queen, one who had the connection to the land stamp and all.

Merlin would protect Arthur beyond any cost. He'd protected him so many times before, and would again.

But loving Arthur... that had come from polishing boots, scrubbing floors and with an aching back that was from half a day spent in the stocks. It had come from Arthur's inability to just admit his feelings, the way he clenched his jaw yet his eyes flashed. His eyes that betrayed his emotions, widening in defiant anger when Uther condemned yet another person without fair trial. It was in the way he mocked Merlin, without any spite in his words, in the way he walked in his room when he thought Merlin wasn't there, slightly deflated and less like a Prince, more like a man subject to a great Kingdom.

And that was how Merlin knew Arthur would be a great King some day. He brushed elbows with peasants, was unafraid to help them. He would go to such lengths for his friends and even for strangers and Merlin had to admit that he had never seen someone quite like Arthur Pendragon.

That wasn't to say they were without their faults. Arthur was arrogant, a complete idiot at times and quick to anger at others, but he meant well almost every time. He was still learning.

Merlin's body emerged from the ice of the water to see a great tree, oak he believed, gnarled and coiling in on itself. It had clearly been here for a very long time, but Merlin failed to see how this could be the great kingdom of Avalon.

Something moved on one of the branches and Merlin's eyes locked on it. It was small, huddled up as it shifted sideways. Merlin fought the urge to smile, so bizarre in the situation that this was.

"You want to know how to save him?" The creature un-tucked its head, round eyes locking on Merlin. It fixed Merlin with a stare and the warlock blinked. Talking dragons he could handle easily, but this?

"You're an owl," he pointed out, gesturing to the bundle of feathers that was peering out at him.

"I'm your way to save Arthur," the bird countered. Merlin sobered at the thought, crossing his arms.

"Where am I?" Merlin asked, lowering himself to the floor. Grass lay all around them, as if they were in a field, and yet the oak tree was the only landmark as far as the eye could see.

"In Avalon. Or at least the Avalon you need to complete your task." The owl shuffled, puffing its feathers up. "It's not the Avalon you've heard fabled of course, but then again Avalon isn't what mere mortals think at all." The owl huffed as Merlin drew his legs in to his chest, resting his head on his knees.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean that the Avalon you think you know all about in your legends is one of the many dimensions here." Merlin swore the owl rolled its eyes. "And this dimension in Avalon is only here to give you what you need."

Merlin had the distinct feeling the owl thought him an idiot.

"What's this got to do with Arthur and saving him?" Merlin waved a hand at the tree, looking about the field in hopes that someone with a vague idea would come along and actually help.

"It has everything to do with it," the bird snapped. "There is a portal in this tree that will take you back to Arthur's side, after I tell you what needs to be done."

Merlin heard the owl mutter something that sounded suspiciously like he was questioning why he had been the one chosen for the task, and decided he held the same opinion. He was almost as infuriating as Kilgharrah, with all his riddles and circles.

The owl swoops from its perch, landing on the floor at Merlin's feet.

"So they've sent me an owl to help me?" Merlin can't help but ask.

The owl puffed up. "Yes, well, some of us also have a destiny." Merlin quirked an eyebrow, wondering how an owl, one that lived in Avalon of all things, could have a destiny linked to Arthur.

"Fine then." The owl had clearly had enough of being made fun of and Merlin's face drained as he realised he'd pushed too far this time.

"Wait, wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. It's just... I was expecting some form of afterlife with clouds and gods and magic and... well, I get you." It was easy to forget about his duty here, Merlin realised, and he found himself more engrossed in the owl and the tree, and the grass that never quite moved, than Arthur, who lay dying.

"I need to know how to save him," Merlin said, voice low. Avalon was calling to him, to the magic thrumming through him. He could do great things here, or so the whispered tendrils that sought him out wanted him to know, but it's not Merlin's path, no matter how great Avalon could be.

"Of course you do," the owl said, fixing Merlin with a stare. "And I'll tell you. The spell used on Arthur is one that is meant to bind a mortal to the land permanently. It has not been used for many, many centuries, and even then it was only wielded by the most talented witches and warlocks who needed to chain their enemies into the land." The owl was pacing now, using his wings to beat out at various points, emphasising them.

"You need to sever the tie between Arthur and the land. There's one way to do that, and it results in the Prince's death."

Merlin's face fell, his jaw slackening. "But you can't-"

"Or," the owl said firmly, looking at Merlin pointedly, "You can keep the bond, but substitute yourself for Arthur."

The owl looked smug, staring at Merlin as he came to terms with his options. Number one: kill Arthur. Number two: give himself wholly to the land and, in the process, die.

There wasn't an option. Not really.

"I'll do it. I don't care what happens to me, if I die then I die. Arthur needs to live for all of Albion." Merlin's voice was firm, yet he halted as the owl rolled his eyes.

"I really fear for your world if you're the most powerful warlock they'll ever have. And Arthur – he has to rely on you for protection." If it were possible for owls to sneer, Merlin was sure the pest before him did.

"Come on, think about it Merlin!" the owl said, flapping his wings out in annoyance. "The spell is meant to bind a mortal to the land."

Merlin felt as though he was slipping grasp on something, something so important that it was screaming out for notice. Merlin felt blind and he worked for the conclusion, frowning when all he could think of was-

Of course.

"I'm not mortal," he whispered, feeling the prickle and tingle of magic underneath him. The waters of Avalon had cleansed him of his mortality, allowed him safe passage into Avalon and now they would bind him to the land, without the sacrifice of his soul or body.

"You need to perform the binding spell and from there you will be alone to tame the very essence of the Old Religion. Though you have come this far, you might find your goal unachievable." The owl puffed its chest out, tilting its head. "The nature that magic is dependent on has never bowed to any hand before, not even the gods'. You will need to achieve the truly impossible if you are to free Arthur from his enchantment."

The owl fluttered up to its tree, hooting banefully as Merlin stepped towards the old oak. It seemed to split apart, an indistinguishable scene in front of Merlin's eyes. All he had to do was step into it and he'd be back with Arthur, back saving his life.

He turned to the owl, smiling. "Thank you," he said, reaching a hand out to the feathers. The owl permitted one stroke, before nipping at the fingers in warning.

"I do not need any thanks, Merlin. We are, unfortunately, as bound as the strings of destiny themselves, and I fear I shall have to put up with you for many more times to yet come."

Merlin laughed, the magic in him humming as he took a step into the oak tree, feeling the chill of the lake and the cling of Albion.

"Goodbye Archimedes," the name springing forwards of its own accord.

The oak tree sealed up and the owl watched it for a moment more, not in the least surprised that Merlin had called him by his true name.

"There are no secrets in Avalon," he muttered, swooping from his perch and upwards, knowing he would see Merlin again. It wasn't, after all, his destiny to die now. Archimedes had done all he could, and now he simply had to wait for Merlin's return, to the time when he would be needed again.

For now, all Merlin needed was Arthur, and the owl was convinced that his Merlin would achieve the impossible and bend the core of the Old Religion to his will.

**.**

Morgause was uncharacteristically angry. Emrys was supposed to be here by now, by their side as their King. While Morgana would be crowned Queen of Camelot, they needed Emrys for the whole of Albion. He was the one who would unite the whole land and bring an age of peace and prosperity. He was the one who would punish Uther Pendragon for the suffering he had caused their kin and Morgause would watch her ruler in delight, happy to oblige his every will.

She was part of the Bloodguard and had been loyal to the Old Religion since she had been old enough to realise that she had magic. Her mother had sent her to someone who had trained her, allowed her to take an oath to the High Priestesses of the Old Religion and allowed her to be herself.

Never once had she felt as a servant under the High Priestesses. They had been kind to their guards, happy to share their knowledge and expertise. She remembered every one of the women who had taken up the role of a High Priestess, in particular the last woman to own the title.

Ironically she had been the one to bring about the downfall of their kind, through a deal with Uther even though Nimueh had been warned against such a deal. After that, the Isle of the Blessed had exiled Nimueh, leaving her to a life that... well, one that Morgause frankly didn't know and didn't care to know.

And how fitting it had been that Nimueh was the last of the High Priestesses. After the death of Elaine, Nimueh had returned to the Isle, called upon the last living members of the Bloodguard and taught them all she knew.

She had taught Morgause more than that though. She had said that Morgause had the makings of a great High Priestess, but that there would be no more need for them in these times. Morgause hadn't wanted the title anyway, but to feel that it had been ripped away from her without such a chance?

She hadn't been sad at the news of Nimueh's death. The woman had tallied too far in the matters of life and death and it was oddly fitting that she met her end (as she had met her exile and downfall) with the very power she had always sought to command.

Even so, Morgause had learnt a great many things from Nimueh. Spells to bind, spells to summon, spells to destroy and spells to seek. The world was at Morgause's fingertips, even if she alone could not summon enough power for the spells.

And so it was with anger and frustration that Morgause often woke now. Emrys was nowhere to be found, even though she had felt him. His power had been incredible, burning in her like the sun. For a moment, nothing else mattered, she felt free and light, without a thought or even a direction.

It had vanished a moment later and Morgause had been seeking it ever since, just to feel the warmth and the certainty (and the power) once more. Her searches had been futile and the ancient scripts the Druids had allowed her to see had only told of what he would do, many years from now in a land free of Uther's persecution.

Then there had been one small paragraph. Emrys, it had said, with the power to control dragons, the last of his kind... and Morgause had formed a plan then.

The tales of the mighty Prince Arthur defeating the Great Dragon became greatly exaggerated the further you rode from the citadel. They spurned from tales of the Prince simply dealing the beast a mortal blow to the Prince bridling the dragon and riding him over Camelot, bending the last dragon to his will before lopping his head off, mounting it to where it lay in the council rooms at Camelot as a relic.

Morgause knew differently, however. She was one of the last to know of the true power of a Dragonlord, one of the last to know the balance. Uther may think he was so clever, but you could not have one dragon and no lord. They were always balanced, one dragon, one Dragonlord. A Dragonlord could survive without a dragon, but the other way around? Impossible.

The Old Religion worked in so many ways, but it would never allow such a dangerous tool to go un-wielded. The dragons were prophets, warriors, magic users and the very keepers to magic that could exist in a creature born of the Old Religion. While nature was the essence, dragons were the harmony, the resonance to maintain the flow and control of magic in the land.

The Great Dragon couldn't be dead without Morgause feeling it, as she had with every other death of the species. High Priestesses and their Bloodguard held tighter ties to the land than even the most powerful, solitary sorcerer and could, with the right training, pick out how many unicorns roamed the land, how many dragons coiled together and so many other things.

Arthur Pendragon did not kill the dragon. He may have wounded it, but the Great Dragon lived on. As there could be only one man who could command such greatness, Morgause needed the spell to summon a beast of the Old Religion to get to Emrys.

It was a perfect plan. She would finally set eyes on their great King, show him all the work they had done and bow to him, pledge themselves. There was no more noble task that Morgause could take in this land and it was a biting urge that she needed to have this done.

She wanted Emrys there when they rode on Camelot. She wanted him to see the destruction that Uther deserved, how Morgana was perfect to rule in place of the tyrant. Her sister would make a great Queen, powerful and beautiful, and Emrys would be so proud.

They would take the world, spinning magic back into the land and destroying those who followed Uther's regime.

**.**

Arthur had been waiting for a long time. If he had had a mortal body then he was sure he would have been annoyed, tapping a foot if he were a latter man than a prince, and with very good reason. The forest around seemed to agree to, lingering around curiously, the ancient power of the Old Religion waiting for something. And, of course, Arthur knew it had something to do with Merlin.

Unabashedly, he'd poured his soul into rejoicing as Merlin entered the forest and came to the side of the lake. Even Avalon had hummed with the appearance of Arthur's manservant (though there was no use for a manservant as a soul, really) and Arthur couldn't deny the joy he felt. In being bound to the forest, tied to the magic of the land, Arthur could feel things he had never felt before.

It was strange. He had enough mortal in him to guide his thoughts and enough residual power flowing through him to seek out anything, anyone. It would have been so easy to find Guinevere, keeping her location in mind for later, when he'd try to convince her to return to Camelot and become his Queen. It would have been so easy to listen to Morgause's plans, and easy to find Morgana, try to unravel her hatred and understand what made her so... so full of malice.

It would have been so easy to ignore Merlin if every spark of magic that ever existed hadn't jumped into life, humming with a golden light that couldn't be seen, only felt. Even then, Arthur could have ignored how he could feel Merlin touching his body, cradling his head and trailing fingers over his arms. The land had been calling for a long while now, asking Arthur to join to Albion forever, unite himself with the land, but Arthur had waited.

It wasn't until Merlin's hands left his that the rush of the call pulled at him. The land whispered for him to join it, to turn his back on his mortal life and become part of everything around them. Arthur had been so tempted, feeling the swell of the magic around him. This was what every King wanted, to feel his land and the people and care for them. Of course, it wouldn't be a sovereign's hand that Arthur would guide from should he accept the whisper, but a more of a constant pull, another soul in the magic of the land.

He'd been so close. So close to accepting, so close to leaving the world he knew to this new, powerful and exciting magic. He didn't want to think anymore, didn't want to have to return to the world of hatred and pain that had been unleashed around him. If Arthur had more than a shred of his mortality left then he would have been in outrage at these thoughts, fight against them with vehemence.

The matter was though; Arthur wasn't left with more than just a shred of who he was. He could remember everything with clarity, but he couldn't feel the same way about it. Magic coiled around him, temptingly. Why not give up?

The words sounded suspiciously like Morgause, but it didn't matter. Perhaps she'd done him a favour in binding him to the land. Perhaps this was the way he was supposed to die... the sorceress, Nimueh, had told him so long ago he was not destined to die at her hand. Maybe she had known this would happen?

Arthur accepted, allowing the power of the Old Religion to flood into him. It burned through him, tingling against his skin in a way it hadn't been able to before, when it was held out by the bindings. He would be smiling, if he'd been mortal, but he supposed that he never needed to smile anymore. A soul couldn't smile, the land couldn't smile...

A hand clasped down on him, where his shoulder would have been if he was in his body.

"You need to go back," a voice murmured, just audible above the roar of the magic. It was crackling now, fizzing, and the rush that had come with the initial wave subsided, shrinking back as Arthur began to panic.

The voice said something else in a language that Arthur didn't know (and that was a rare thing, he'd been schooled well in largely-spoken languages and taught to at least recognise lesser-spoken languages). It reminded him of the tongue Morgause and Morgana had used before and realised that it was another spell.

This time, though, he could tell this person was more powerful than the group that had bound him put together. The magic around him didn't snap away, like chains would have, and he could still feel the buzz and the allure that it carried, even as it left. Arthur could feel it receding, coiling back in on itself before moving out again, towards the person who had spoken.

Arthur could feel himself drifting towards his body and knew that, once he was back in it, he'd lose the person next to him. Desperation flooded into his soul, which was now more mortal than it had ever been since he'd come here, and he fought - as he always had - to cling to the person, tell them to just stop.

For the barest of seconds, the power died down around them and Arthur could see Merlin's smiling face, bearing down at him.

"Don't worry Arthur," Merlin said with such conviction. The desperation didn't die down, but it was too late to act. Arthur felt himself slipping away into unconsciousness, the only reassurance being that Merlin's hand was still pressed tightly against his shoulder.

 **.**  


As Arthur's eyes rolled back, Merlin heaved a great sigh of relief. The first part of the spell had worked and he'd forced the binding spell that had been cursed on Arthur onto himself. Changing the recipient of such a powerful spell was difficult, but Morgause hadn't had the power to sustain it for longer than she'd thought it would take for Arthur to succumb to the land. It was already weakening (and Merlin refused to accept that Arthur had been on the brink of giving up) when he'd cast the spell of his own and the magic was more than happy to take the person with such a wonderfully large source of magic.

Spell work was very finicky. It needed to be specific in intent, at the very least, or else it wouldn't work. When casting a spell you needed to be so certain of what you wanted, or at least commanding enough when you delivered it.

Merlin was lucky, in a sense. He didn't quite have the same troubles that other spell users might and that was probably due to the fact he'd been born with magic. His mother had once made a joke that Merlin used to use magic inside of her and she finally had an explanation why her stomach had tingled in a strange way during her pregnancy. Merlin had rolled his eyes before and laughed with her, but he'd caught her look and knew that it wasn't a complete joke.

Gaius had called him impossible. You couldn't be born with magic. You could be born with the ability of magic, certainly. A lot of people were, though many never recognised it and never knew of it. Magic, excluding Merlin, had been something that was taught. It was a skill that a few accidents or parlor tricks could be made from with great effort, unknown to the person, but true magic, moving objects, creating fire and felling trees (just three things Merlin had been able to do with such ease before he'd come to Camelot), had to be taught.

It was unpredictable too, which was why incantations were used for spell work. Merlin had never used spells before meeting Gaius and never even thought to incant. Everything about his magic was instinctual, a far cry from the unpredictability he was discovering now, through other people.

It was only through Gaius that he realised how hard magic was, for other people that is. Merlin may have had difficulty with certain spells and incantations, but he never found it truly hard.

Which was, perhaps, why he was able to change Morgause's spell so easily. While she had specified that she wanted to bind Arthur to the land, she hadn't named him. Even though this was her intent (and Merlin could feel it flickering in the magic as it drew back for a brief second, unsure), she hadn't specified whom she had wanted tied to the land and, so, left Merlin a loop-hole to work with.

Merlin closed his eyes, needing his full concentration for the remainder of what he was to do. He wasn't going to let himself be bound to the land; Arthur needed him far too much for him to allow it to happen. Besides, if Arthur could have coped without him (which Merlin knew was a ridiculous statement, no other manservant would be able to get the Prince's bath the right temperature anymore), Morgana and Morgause were a different matter.

As Morgause's spell attached to him, Merlin smothered the power instantly, cloaking it all in his own. He didn't want Morgause sensing her own magic had changed and the only way to do that was stifle the whole spell with his own. Unlike most enchantments, this spell didn't link back to her or any of the other casters. It was between the land and Arthur, but should she look over to see how Arthur was faring... Merlin wanted to be sure that she thought she'd succeeded.

The magic began to weave around him, holding him in place. The next stage of the spell would be to separate the two parts of Merlin; his mortal body and his immortal soul.

The magic choked in what would be shock if it could feel. It was too far gone now to unweave and Merlin's own magic clamped down where it spiralled around him. The land paused, unsure of what was happening, and the spell quivered. It had realised that he had no mortality in his body, which was exactly what Merlin had wanted.

Such a spell as this couldn't just be destroyed. It was connected to the land and Merlin knew that if he simply severed it, he could cause harm to the oldest magic. He needed to twist it, bend the will of the Old Religion as Archimedes had said.

Merlin could feel his body shake and he tensed up as the pain began to filter in, all over his body in tiny, hot needle pricks.

"Ic binde ēow tō se ānweald binnan mec!" Merlin hissed out, his teeth clenched.

The spell spluttered around him and, as Merlin had hoped, took the loop-hole, surging forwards until it pressed against every tiny point of pain that had gathered on Merlin's body. He could feel the power of Avalon being drawn from him, his body convulsing in the absence of the magic. His body fell to the floor, his face pressed into the mud, as the pain became too much and he cried out, chest heaving as he drew in sharp breaths.

The Old Religion was relentless; Merlin should have known that by now. This was similar to mirroring the power of life and death, except that instead of a death, the power (and immortality) of Avalon was given for a life. There was so much Merlin could have done with that power, ruled the world and Avalon itself if he'd really wanted to, but he didn't. If the water had been in someone like Morgana or Morgause's hands, then perhaps they would have tried to take on such power and rule the world. Merlin, on the other hand, had never once considered using the power for himself, but for Arthur.

He bared the pain, scrabbling at the ground like a wild animal. He could barely think as the magic of the land dug deeper, pulling out every last inch of Avalon from within him. It was a pain more powerful than any he'd ever felt before and it couldn't be described simply as burning, freezing, being cut open or anything like that. It was every single pain that one could possibly imagine, rolled into one.

And then, suddenly, it was gone. Vanished, as if it has never been there in the first place. Merlin lay on the ground, unblinking, waiting.

He felt it, finally, the beat of his heart and the rush of blood through his body. His mortality had returned, as if it had never left, and he choked back a sob, eyes welling with tears.

Someone - Freya his mind told him dully - turned him over, pressing a kiss to his forehead and scooping his head up off of the ground.

"Arthur is very lucky to have you," she said, and Merlin could hear the smile in her words. In another life, another time, it would have been easy to love her. It would have been easy to run away with her somewhere.

But he had to help Arthur. In their brief time together, Merlin had truly loved Freya and she had loved him, but they were never going to have their happy ending. It wasn't the destiny for either of them, not that it meant they had felt any less for each other.

"He will be a great King with you by his side," Freya ran a hand through Merlin's hair as he twitched through the last of the lingering pain, wrinkling his brow and gritting his jaw. "And you will be a great Warlock with him by your side."

Merlin knew it was time for her to leave them, but his fingers moved a little, wanting to pull her to him. He'd missed her and knew that, as soon as she was gone, the ache would return. She had been the first woman he'd loved, the first person he hadn't had to hide anything from. While they were never meant to be, he'd still miss her as a friend.

"I have one last gift for you, something I've been looking after." Freya left them for a moment and Merlin cracked an eyelid open, his retinas burning as he did so. A shadow came back into view and Freya knelt down again, pressing something cold and long to Merlin's side. "Arthur will need it and I feel that now is the time he needs such a weapon, just as he needs you."

She pressed a last kiss to his cheek, loving but unromantic. She'd seen it then, realised that Merlin loved someone else now then.

"I'm sure we will see each other again," she called out, stepping backward into the lake and smiling sadly.

Merlin slipped into unconsciousness after that and so didn't see the spell cast on him and Arthur, sent from Freya's lips to protect them until they woke.

 **.**  
  
Mordred's head jerked up and the Druid elders around him tensed, uneasy.

"What is it?" one asked, a grizzly beard hanging down to his chest. Mordred fixed him with a stare, not acknowledging the question.

The elders were here to 'control' him. It had been a while since Mordred had been able to walk truly alone anywhere, since he'd been found by the Druids after abandoning them for Alvarr. He hadn't regretted a thing about stealing from the Druid camp and meeting with Alvarr, except perhaps that Alvarr had been caught by Camelot and he'd then been found by the Druids.

He knew why he was being watched. There was much written on him, about what he would one day be able to do. Some of the things were more terrible than the others, but unlike the prophecies on Emrys, his own had been only possible futures. Oh yes, the mighty Emrys had prophecies spun from the mouths of Dragon's themselves, but Mordred? Well his were coin prophecies, told by people who possessed the Sight. And, with a human body, the Sight was unreliable and mostly wrong.

This was why he was not allowed to be on his own, in fear that the terrible things he was capable of would come true. The Druid elders had said that he was lucky, that they had been merciful. Mordred could have been executed, they'd said, though it went against every single belief the Druids held. That was a testimony to how horrible the things Mordred may be able to do were, if even the Druids were prepared to take such measures.

Instead they smothered him, kept him contained to their communities and trained him in how they wanted. He had mastered telepathy easily, instinctively, and learnt to use his power through his thoughts.

Meeting Emrys had been interesting. He'd helped Mordred (and, as Mordred had expected, been able to use telepathy as naturally as he breathed) and risked an awful lot just to get him out of Camelot. His hold on Prince Arthur was interesting too and Mordred had watched the pair of them, noticing that Emrys was willing (more than willing) to do what the Prince said and the Prince himself... well he had risked an awful lot to get Mordred out of Camelot. He'd even been prepared to fight his own men, rather than pretending he'd found Mordred, and a grudging tint of respect had emerged for Arthur.

Until, of course, the crystal of Neahtid had been taken by Camelot, stolen from Alvarr and Mordred. Mordred had been bitter after that, knowing that he was the one supposed to wield the crystal and yet Emrys had most likely been able to use it without an inch of training. Mordred had taken the crystal in his hands once, stared into it, willing it to show him something, anything. He'd tried pouring his magic into it, but the crystal had remained unresponsive.

But Emrys would have been able to wield it. He knew that without needing proof. He couldn't forgive Emrys for what he had done, turning on his kind and leading to the slaughter of innocents. Alvarr would have been able to teach Mordred without fear, finally set him free of the Elders he was guided by.

Why was Emrys allowed to be alone? With such power and strength surely someone should have kept him in check, told him that he was to be watched because he was powerful and this meant he'd be strayed to being evil. No one did, though, and Mordred craved to know why. It couldn't be fear, after all they'd feared Mordred after the Prophecies had been spoken. They didn't exactly hold love for Emrys either, knowing that he was in Camelot's court. They respected him, some even to the point of worship, but none of them trusted the man.

He could hear the Druid elders around him, whispering. They must have finally picked up on it too then and Mordred took slight satisfaction from the fact he had felt the spell before they had.

"We should go," one of the elders said, a woman with dark hair. She looked down at Mordred with a smile, "It seems that someone has cast a powerful spell of protection."

Mordred didn't need to be told to know this. He'd known it before they had for pity's sake! The elders were nothing compared to him, but what could he do? Mordred admitted that he needed to learn more and didn't know where he fitted in with the world right now, and the Druids - while scared of him - did provide him with protection. Without them, Mordred wouldn't know as much as he did now and he could at least admit that he did need them.

It was unusual for a spell of protection to be cast in these woods and the Druids had been moving out here anyway after feeling a disturbance to the land around them. The elders suspected an ancient spell, but the nature of it they were unsure of. It could be anything from a fertility spell used on crops to a spell designed to mutate the core of the magic. It was the Druid's job to neutralise any threats if they occurred, hence the investigation.

It didn't take long to get to the source of the disturbance, and the Druids all gasped in shock. Covered in mud and sopping wet was Emrys, lain prone next to Prince Arthur. All of the Druids had been on high alert since Uther had announced the Crown Prince missing and ordered the full guard of Camelot to search and they certainly had never expected to see the missing Prince on he edge of a lake.

"What do we do?" asked one of the elders, behind Mordred. Mordred heard them muttering to each other, but he ignored what they were saying to stand over Emrys.

He looked so weak, face streaked with rain and mud, and Mordred wondered what on earth he had done to cause such... weakness. Despite all appearances, Mordred knew enough to know that Emrys was stupidly loyal to Arthur, risking his life endlessly for the Prince. He couldn't understand it, didn't want to perhaps, but felt a stab of jealousy at his actions.

Emrys had turned his back on his kind and pledged his allegiance to a kingdom sworn to eradicate magic. He'd tried to stop Mordred more than once now, but hadn't the guts to go all the way, nor the sense to never do it in the first place.

"Mordred!" He was pulled from his thoughts by one of the elders calling him over. "You need to listen out for intruders," the man said, looking sternly into Mordred's eyes. "We need to get back to the camp without being seen."

They were taking Emrys back with them then. And, of course, if Emrys was to come, then so was Arthur. Mordred had snuck a peak at the Dragon's prophecies once, noticing that the name Emrys and the name Arthur were intertwined like tendrils of ivy, clasped together round their oak, the whole of Albion.

They were both slung onto the backs of the two tallest Druids, taking the bulk of the Prince's armour without the aid of magic. To do so now, when they could all feel the crackle of the land hovering on both Emrys and Arthur, would be foolish as they had no idea how the men came to be unconscious or how magic would react to them.

They hastened back to camp, the elders almost forgetting about Mordred in the hurry to get Emrys to safety. Mordred lingered for a moment more than necessary and a hand brushed his back, reminding him he wasn't free to go where he wanted just yet.

"Carry that, would you?" the elder asked of him, pointing down at the earth where an object lay. It was a sword, glinting gold and silver in the murky light and Mordred hesitated, curling fingers around the pommel a moment later.

When they returned to camp, Mordred was glad to drop the sword between Emrys and Arthur, feeling strangely uneasy for some reason. The Druids ushered him away, preparing to dress their new guests in warm clothes so they could be comfortable when they awoke and, for the first time in many months, Mordred was more than happy to return to his tent and simply be alone.

 **.**  
  
When Arthur woke, he felt bruised. It was almost as if he'd been in a battle, except there was no fight that he could recall being in that had made him feel this weak before. He felt drained, achy and miserable, but he had no idea why. Or, for that matter, where he was.

Arthur looked around; shifting only slightly on the pallet he was laid on. It was a tent, thick lined, but the handiwork was generic. His clothes were slightly coarse, but comfortable nonetheless. There was a similar pallet next to his, but the covers were thrown back and it was clear it had been unoccupied for a while.

Merlin, his mind supplied, and Arthur agreed. If he was somewhere with anyone, then it would be with Merlin.

Memories hit him staggeringly, forcing him to close his eyes. He could remember Morgana beside him, before they had stopped and she had changed. He remembered her face twisted in anger, spitting out the words that had revealed Merlin to have poisoned her and for her to be in league with Morgause.

He could remember the pain in his knees (as he'd hit the ground) and then the rest of his body as the spell took over, pulling his soul from his body. He remembered the joy that had swept him when Merlin had come to the forest and how he had almost given up.

Merlin had saved him again it seemed. He'd pulled Arthur back from the brink of death and-

What if Merlin was dead instead? He tried to sit up, wincing in pain as he found he couldn't. The urge to see if Merlin was alright overpowered his own pain tolerance and he managed to roll sideways, pushing up onto his knees.

The effort winded him and he paused, poised to right himself into a crouch and then standing. He wasn't sure how long he remained on his knees, the world swimming in his eyes, but it wasn't before the man he was searching for came back into the tent, running to his side.

"Lie back down Sire," Merlin said quietly, pushing him back down and leaving Arthur with little choice but to comply. He couldn't form words just yet, but simply seeing Merlin here was relief enough and he sank back onto the straw mattress.

"Emrys," a voice called from outside and Arthur saw Merlin frown.

"In a moment," Merlin snapped back, dutifully making sure Arthur was comfortable. "I have to talk to some people, but I'll come back and explain everything, I promise," he whispered to Arthur, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

Arthur wasn't sure how long Merlin was gone for, but he woke up and knew some time had passed since he had, begrudgingly, fallen asleep. He felt better now, amazing really, and remembered another time he'd woken feeling brilliant when he really shouldn't have, when they'd gone to look for the Dragonlord.

Able to move about now, Arthur had the sense to remain silent as he crept to the tent entrance, but stilled as a voice called out.

"Emrys, please," it called and Arthur froze. They'd been calling Merlin by this name and Merlin had let them. Was it his real name? Was he undercover and his real name was Emrys?

Then again, Hunith had always called him Merlin, with such affection that couldn't be bestowed to a fake name. No, Merlin was his real name, but what was this Emrys business then?

"The boy wishes to speak with you alone."

Arthur cursed the tents for being made out of a dark coloured material, not allowing him to see who the boy in question was. He heard Merlin agreeing to speak with 'the boy' and they, presumably, sat down outside the tent entrance.

"It's not just a sword is it?" a familiar voice asked, yet Arthur couldn't place it.

"Not using telepathy today?" Merlin asked and Arthur could pick out the amusement in his manservant's tone. This meant, though, that Merlin had met this boy before, communicated with his mind to him. Had Arthur been a fool all along?

But why would Merlin go to such lengths if he was just playing Arthur? Why go to all the trouble to save him in the forest when, clearly, he'd had to go through an awful lot too. If Merlin was going to betray Arthur and kill him, why bother saving him when Morgana and Morgause had, for all intents and purposes, succeeded in murder.

None of it made sense.

"No. They said a condition to speak to you was not to use my gift." Arthur could hear the bitterness in the boy's voice.

"Then they are somewhat wise. Do they know what you're capable of?" Merlin asked in reply.

"No." A pause and then, "Yes. Somewhat. They know what I'll become and it scares them."

The atmosphere outside of the tent was tense and Arthur wanted to see their faces. It was such a serious conversation, and yet he felt as if he were missing half of it. He was able to understand what was being said, but none of it really clicked.

"Are they training you to use crystals?" Merlin's voice was low and Arthur could only just pick it out.

"No. That was just Alvarr. I would have mastered the crystal of Neahtid," the boy said smugly and Arthur wracked his brain, thinking to the mysterious crystal that someone had stolen.

"You don't want to," Merlin said shortly.

"You would say that." There was a moment's silence. "The sword?" the boy reminded.

"It's not mine. Excalibur belongs to Arthur and Arthur alone. It would cause destruction in any others' hands." Merlin sounded as if he were repeating solemn words. Arthur frowned, if this sword was his, then why had he never seen it?

"But it's not just a sword. It's... something else." The boy sounded almost scared and, again, Arthur wished he understood more of what was going on.

"There's a prophecy about you Mordred." Mordred! The little Druid boy Arthur and Merlin had helped escape from Camelot. "And I hope it's wrong, I really do."

Merlin's voice was final and Arthur hastily moved back to his bed, ducking under the covers and feigning sleep just as the tent flap opened. While he had nothing to feel guilty about, he wasn't quite sure to make of this new world he'd been thrust into, a world where Merlin was... well...

Arthur didn't bother to hide the fact he was awake and lay, staring at Merlin as he sat on the ground. For the first time, Arthur noticed a sword between them and knew, just by looking at the shining metal, that it was his.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said softly, sitting upright with his legs crossed and hands clutching the covers. Arthur didn't know how to respond and stayed quiet.

"I wanted to tell you, I really did." Merlin drew his knees to his chest and tucked his chin on top. "It's just... I didn't want you to have to choose." Merlin huffed out a breath, "Remember the crystal of Neahtid? You lied to your father then for me, to protect me. That was just a little thing; I couldn't let you do it for something I had no choice in."

Merlin's eyes flickered over to Arthur and he realised that Merlin was apologising for his magic. Arthur was baffled; he'd never even considered berating Merlin for it, especially not after what he'd just done to save Arthur.

"I've only used it to save you, or to help you. I didn't... I didn't mean to cause trouble and I-" Merlin broke off, frowning. "And I had to save you this time, after M-" Merlin broke off again, shooting a worried glance at Arthur.

"What happened?" Arthur asked, voice low. He needed to hear it from Merlin's lips.

"I... the Druids came and..." Arthur stared at Merlin as he fumbled, a flush creeping onto his cheeks before he deflated. "I had a whole story prepared, about how the Druids saved you after they heard me shouting, how Morgana told everyone back in Camelot you'd been taken by bandits and was so worried about you."

Arthur's jaw clenched and Merlin chuckled darkly, shaking his head.

"I'm not going to lie to you anymore," he said, looking directly at Arthur as he said so. "Morgause and... a group enchanted you so that your soul would be ripped from you and bound to the land. Her intent was to destroy you and claim Camelot for... someone else." Merlin lowered his eyes a little and Arthur understood. Morgana wasn't an easy subject to breech.

"Morgana," Arthur said instead, his voice sticking in his throat. It was hard to accept that Morgana, the woman he'd grown up with and loved, was so full of hatred now that she was prepared to kill Arthur, kill Uther, and take Camelot for her own.

Merlin looked a little surprised, but he nodded to Arthur. "Yes," he admitted. "Morgana returned to Camelot and... well Gaius said she informed Uther while he was dining." Merlin caught the question in Arthur's eyes. "I'd been drugged. Morgana snuck into Gaius' work room and drugged the water. I woke up the day after you'd..."

Arthur nodded sharply. So it really had been planned, in an attempt to keep Merlin away.

"Do they know about you?" Arthur asked softly, eyes meeting Merlin's.

His manservant shook his head. "No, but I've been bothersome enough in the past..." Merlin's face paled suddenly and he looked away, obviously remembering something.

Unfortunately, Arthur had an idea of what he'd just remembered. "Morgana said you'd poisoned her." It wasn't a question, but Arthur needed to know the truth. He needed to know why Merlin had done it, because there had to have been a reason.

"Yes," Merlin admitted shakily. "Awakening the Knights of Medhir was easy with a spell and so was putting the whole of Camelot to sleep. What wasn't so easy is maintaining such a spell and so it needed a vessel, a conduit so that the enchantment could hold."

Merlin took a deep breath and Arthur knew better than to interrupt. "At first I really thought the reason Morgana wasn't affected was because she had magic, so I had to lie. We fabricated a potion... but then it started to get to me and... someone told me that she was the conduit for the spell."

Arthur didn't remember anyone else being awake and he narrowed his eyes. "Who? Why didn't they help us?"

Merlin took a moment to reply, and even then his voice was shallow. "Kilgharrah. The... the Great Dragon."

Strangely, there was no sting of betrayal that Merlin had known the dragon. It made sense, really, after feeling the magic of the land. Magic called to other magic and Merlin being called to the dragon made a strange lot of sense.

"There was only one way to save Camelot, which was-"

"To destroy the source of the magic," Arthur whispered, remembering what Merlin had said back in the council chambers. Merlin `nodded, looking away still.

"Morgause came to save her and I had to use Morgana's death to stop the attack. I-" Merlin broke off. It was clear that he'd never been able to speak of what he'd done this clearly before and Arthur remained silent. While it hurt to hear these things, he needed to know them, and know them now.

"She managed to save Morgana, though I wasn't sure until we found Morgana again. She caused the madness in Uther and then helped Morgause and Cenred summon the army of the dead." Merlin brought a hand up to rub his eye as Arthur cast his mind back a while. It had been a terrible moment, when they'd all thought Camelot lost... but then Morgana had saved them all, destroying the enchantment.

"It wasn't Morgana who saved us then?" Arthur asked dumbly, already knowing the answer.

"No. I had to stop her." Merlin ploughed on, explaining to Arthur the number of times Morgana had almost killed him, ending with the bracelet on their quest.

Arthur felt the weight of his quest pressing against him again and knew that this path was what he was truly meant to do. His quest, for all he had thought before, was only just beginning now, and this knowledge burnt inside of him, coiling and preparing to face what he needed to in order to fully complete his task.

"The Fisher King gave me what I needed to save you yesterday," Merlin was saying and Arthur looked at him in surprise.

"The Fisher King? When did you have time to meet him? If I recall properly we were either being attacked by bloodthirsty wyverns or you were making an idiot of yourself." The words were slightly shaky, betraying Arthur's true feelings. There would be no lighthearted banter between them just yet.

"Actually it was when I was making an idiot of myself. In the throne room, he was there. He told me that the quest was for me and gave me the bottle of water from Avalon. He told me that I'd need it and, in return, I gave him what he craved more than anything." Merlin paused, lowering his eyes into his knees. "I gave him the Phoenix Eye bracelet and he died."

They were silent for a few moments, just before Merlin gave a suffering sigh, turning his head slightly to look lop-sided at Arthur.

"There's one more thing," he murmured, avoiding Arthur's eyes again. How many more secrets were there? Arthur was almost prepared to believe that he was still in a dream, if not for the honesty in Merlin's tone and his face.

"Morgana... if... if she kills you, then she can legally claim the throne." Merlin refused to look at Arthur.

Arthur frowned, running through the hours he had spent in lessons teaching him on court etiquette and order of inheritance of Camelot's throne.

"That's ridiculous. If I died, my father would have to move to our closest relative. The Pendragon family would be over, yes, but our blood would still run through. Morgana's just my father's ward; she doesn't have any legal claim to the throne." Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. For all the power Merlin had, he could, thankfully, still be an idiot.

"As his ward she wouldn't no," Merlin acknowledged, before his voice dipped lower. "But... as his daughter she would inherit the throne rightfully."

Arthur's eyes widened and his jaw slackened in shock. He'd accepted everything easily so far (too easily, really, for it was more like a story where he briefly knew what would happen yet hadn't read it in years) and found that he couldn't take anything else in.

Merlin seemed to understand and slid down into his own bed, leaving Arthur to listen as his breaths evened.

Even through the shock of the revelation that Morgana was his half-sister, Arthur couldn't help but wonder what the hell Merlin had gone through, just for him.

It was too much, whatever it was. Far too much, more than he should have had to go through. Arthur would end that; he'd put it all right and show Merlin how much he meant, even if Arthur himself was still unraveling how much Merlin did mean to him.

 **.**  
  
Morgana waited in her room, combing her hair as she hummed a low tune. Her maid left hurriedly, probably scared by the dark looks Morgana had been shooting her for the past hour and Morgana finally was able to stand, dropping the brush onto her dresser and moving around silently, fetching a deep green cloak and slipping it on. She wore boots and moved out of the Citadel, thankful that the guard was patchy at best, most of the soldiers sent out to look for Arthur.

Her horse knew the route well and she hardly needed to steer, sitting back in the saddle and lowering her head when any trees overhung onto the path. They wove through the woods until they came to one of Morgause's hideouts, a cave. In the centre of the main 'room' sat Morgause's scrying crystal and she looked up from peering into it as Morgana appeared.

"Sister," she greeted warmly, opening her arms and accepting Morgana's embrace.

"Uther is ripe for the picking, why have we not taken Camelot?" Morgana couldn't keep the edge from her voice. She trusted Morgause, yes, but couldn't understand why they hadn't moved against Camelot.

"The Solstice is too close," Morgause said, moving back to the crystal. "It has been written for centuries that Camelot is at its strongest on the Solstices, being born from magic." Morgana nodded, knowing that the legends of Sigan building Camelot from magic were hardly legends.

"If we struck now, there is a small chance that we would lose." Morgause smiled, "We'll wait, but don't think that we won't do anything. On the eve of the Solstice, when the magic of the Old Religion is at its most wild, we shall summon the Great Dragon and, through it, Emrys. He'll be there to crown you Morgana."

Morgause's voice was full of joy and pride and she moved to cup Morgana's cheek tenderly, looking into her eyes. She took Morgana's hand in her own and spoke,

"I promise you, before the year is new, you will be Queen." Morgause's smile was comforting and Morgana nodded.

She returned to Camelot, her horse knowing the route easily. The fire that had been burning in her stomach as she'd set out had been abated, for now. All she had to do was wait a few more nights, act the part of the worried ward in the search for Arthur. And then, after the Solstice, she would no longer need to simper to Uther's needs and whims.

Yes, it was what she wanted, Uther gone and for magic to rule over the land once more. Camelot would be her kingdom, free of a tyrant and free to be prosperous.

And when this Emrys came? She would keep her throne. Not even Morgause's King would usurp the Queen Morgana.

**.**


	5. Chapter 5

After leaving Camelot, Gwen had taken the route to a large trading town, governed by a letter Merlin had given her. It had been from Lancelot, with the details of the town he'd be staying in for a few months for work, and it had been her way to find him again.

The inn he was staying in, The Hare and Hounds, was like any other inn Gwen knew and it seemed like such an ordinary place for the emotions swelling inside of her. The first step of her new life had begun as she left Camelot, but that had been a life-without-Arthur. This, standing before a room with her hand poised to knock on the door, was her life-with-Lancelot.

"Guinevere?" A voice questioned, a little way down the hall. Gwen turned, cheeks flushed as her eyes met Lancelot's.

They entered Lancelot's room and Gwen told him everything; of her relationship with Arthur, how Morgana had suspected her, how Merlin had told her to get away and how she was confused. It wasn't hard to fall into Lancelot's arms and hold him as she cried, missing her home, her life, everything she knew, and Lancelot just held her, stroking her back.

She took the bed while he slept on a pile of blankets on the floor. Gwen had refused at first, but she'd been so tired that there had been very little fight left in her. Three days of sleeping and looking for odd work to do – and securing a seamstress' work for a few items a day – brightened Gwen, replenished her somewhat and she was able to look Lancelot in the eye, tell him that he was to share the bed and that she'd have none of excuses.

If she couldn't have Arthur, then maybe it was time to realise that she didn't want him. Arthur was a fine man, but he was destined to be King. If Gwen was to become Queen, she knew herself that the choice would make itself one day and that, as Merlin jokingly asked, she'd have to choose between Arthur and Lancelot. The fact that even now she'd take Lancelot despite being someone's wife told Gwen she could never give Arthur that commitment, that he deserved so much more than she could give because Lancelot already had her heart.

By the time messengers came from Camelot, Gwen knew there were no more choices. Her choice was Lancelot, for now and forever. Arthur was a dear friend, but Lancelot… she could be happy with him.

The last messenger the village received from Camelot had been two days ago. He'd ridden to the square, called for attendance from every household. People had flooded the streets to hear the news from their King and it had been then that Gwen saw people close off, begin to cry and turn away.

There had been no sign of Prince Arthur for weeks. The Lady Morgana said that he had been taken captive, wounded gravely. Uther was still searching, but the people, as they had before, would take to the city of Camelot to offer their prayers and say farewell to the lost heir.

Gwen and Lancelot joined the small group travelling to Camelot to lay candles in the courtyard. She wouldn't believe Arthur was dead, but her candle would be one of hope that he'd return safely. Maybe Merlin would know something or be able to do something, he always seemed to have an answer.

Lancelot didn't bat an eye, simply packing everything they had into bags and nodding.

"Clearly Arthur needs us," was all he said, before taking Gwen's hand and leading her from their room.

The journey back to Camelot – back home – was a long one. Small groups joined them occasionally, some heading to Camelot and others not. While the distance between Haldor and Camelot wasn't great, the thought of what would be waiting for them didn't add haste to anyone's stride.

The streets of Camelot weren't any different to any other day ad Gwen could almost have brought herself to believe that everything was okay, that the messenger had brought false news, if not for the fact there was not a hint of colour on any person. Black clothed figures walked about the market place, some holding candles to take to the courtyard and others drawing shawls up, bundling inside as the kingdom entered its mourning.

Lancelot walked at her side as they moved to Gaius' workroom, hoping to find either Merlin or the physician, though preferably both. Gwen knocked politely, understanding that her position in the castle was temporarily dissolved, and she nodded to Lancelot as Gaius called for them to enter.

"Lancelot! Gwen!" Gaius sounded overjoyed to see them and Gwen supposed that he must be taking it hard too. He'd known Arthur since he was a baby and watched him grow.

"Where's Merlin?" Lancelot asked, peering behind Gaius to see Merlin's door wide open, but empty.

"Shut the door and come sit down," Gaius said, dropping his voice lower. Once they were seated, he looked at them , a serious look on his face. "Merlin went to find Arthur just after he vanished."

Gwen's hands fisted in her lap and Lancelot lay one of his own hands over hers, entwining their fingers.

"Have you heard anything?" Lancelot asked, leaning his free elbow on the table as he moved towards Gaius over the bench.

"Not since he left, but Merlin suspected that Morgana had been in touch with Morgause." Gaius paused for a moment, his gaze resting on Gwen before shifting quickly back to Lancelot. "He said he could feel that something was coming and I believe it to be linked to the Solstice."

Gwen bit her lip hesitantly. While Merlin was loyal, far more loyal than anyone she'd ever met, what could he hope to achieve? Now there were two of them out there, alone and possibly dying, while the rest of them were stuck with their prayers and wishes of hope.

A guard called for Gaius to attend the King and he left, telling Lancelot and Gwen to stay. They watched him go anxiously, for if the King had called for Gaius it could mean the very best or the very worst.

"You don't seem worried," Gwen said, a little while later.

Lancelot looked at her, shaking his head slightly. "I trust in Merlin and I know he'll do whatever it takes to get Arthur back safely." He paused, moving to Gwen's side and kissing her forehead gently, "Besides, you know what the pair of them are like. They'll come back to Camelot side by side, bickering as always."

Gwen smiled, blinking back her tears and nodding. Everything would be okay; they just had to trust in Merlin and Arthur.

The next morning dawned and with it brought Gaius' terrible news. Gwen and Lancelot had slept in Merlin's room so they hadn't been privy to the gossip of the town (and they were, by far, the first to know), but Gaius' grave look as they entered his room said it all.

"Uther sent scouts to hunt for Arthur," he began, passing around bowls for breakfast. "One such scout reported seeing the Druids carrying two men, one of whom matched Arthur's description, to their settlement. They tried to track the Druids, for days, but were unsuccessful."

"But the Druids are peaceful aren't they? Even if that man was Arthur, they wouldn't hurt him," Lancelot asked hurriedly.

Gaius sighed. "Normally I'd have no reason to disagree, but… Arthur led a massacre on one of their settlements and he's the son of Uther. Many of their people have found death because of the King and, as such, Uther is to make a public announcement today in the courtyard."

There was no need to say what kind of announcement the King would make. There was only one such speech he would make, and that was one to publicly endorse the mourning of his son, to begin the farewells properly.

"You said the scout saw two men…" Lancelot began, glancing at Gwen briefly before returning his gaze to Gaius.

"The other one matched Merlin's description, yes. I told Uther than Merlin had gone looking for Arthur as soon as he'd heard the news and the King had no reason to fault that." Gaius' voice was calm and Gwen felt tears welling up. This was awful news, the worst – both Merlin and Arthur were lost now it seemed.

"So the Druids-" Lancelot said, but was cut off by Gaius.

"Would be more likely to heal them than kill them? Yes. So I suppose there was some good in Merlin running off after all." Gaius' lips tightened into a slight smile and Lancelot nodded; a smile of his own creeping up to match.

"Gaius?" Gwen asked, brows furrowed in confusion. She was evidently missing something here.

"I can't say why, but Merlin is one of the last people the Druids would seek to kill. And as long as the Prince is with him, they'll both come back safe." Gaius' mouth turned down at the corner, "Of course I couldn't say as much to Uther and unless Arthur comes back, there's nothing I can do."

Would he come back? It wasn't a question that Gwen could answer and, later in the courtyard with tears trickling down her face as the King stood swathed in black, a veiled Morgana by his side, all she could do was cling to Lancelot's hand, press her cheek to his heartbeat and hope, more than anything, that Arthur and Merlin would return home safely.

**.**

"I know she was my sister," was the first thing that Arthur said as he turned around to look at Merlin. "I mean, she told me in the clearing. I just… I guess it didn't sink in," he explained at Merlin's look.

"I don't expect it did," Merlin murmured, low and slightly husky. Arthur wondered if he'd just woken up. "You had bigger things on your mind around about then."

Merlin shifted so that he had his legs crossed on the pallet. A sword – his sword – lay next to Merlin with a cloth beside it; clearly Merlin had been cleaning it.

"This," Merlin said when he noticed Arthur's line of gaze, "Is Excalibur. I had Kilgharrah bathe the blade in fire – Gwen's father forged it."

Arthur's fingers twitched, wanting to reach for the blade. Merlin offered it to him, hilt first, and as his palm closed around his sword, it felt as if it was sliding home. He balanced the sword in his hand, testing the weight and he smiled; it was unlike any weapon he'd ever held before.

"It's perfect," he said to Merlin, looking at him in amazement. "Why…?"

"The only weapon that can slay the dead is one forged from a dragon's breath. I made this for you when the Black Knight, Tristan, challenged you. I didn't know Uther and Gaius had drugged you and Uther used it instead." Merlin hung his head for a moment, "After that, I had to place it somewhere until you were ready for it, so I took it to the lake of Avalon."

Avalon; a place of myth and legend. Uther had told them all that Avalon was just a myth in its connection to the Old Religion, but a place where the dead passed to and nothing more. There were no fairy guardians, no sorcerers at its gates. It was just the resting place of the dead, unconnected to magic, so Uther had convinced himself.

"That was where Morgana took you to," Merlin said softly, watching Arthur as he rotated his wrist, practising his drills.

Arthur lay Excalibur down next to him and looked at Merlin. "What do we do now then?"

Merlin shifted uncomfortably, refusing to meet Arthur's eyes. "You're going back to Camelot and I'm going to meet Morgana and Morgause on the Solstice."

Automatically, Arthur wanted to call him stupid. Who did he think he was, going against Morgana and Morgause alone? Even the fact he had magic didn't ease the anger that boiled inside of Arthur, though he wasn't too sure why.

"You might be a powerful sorcerer," and there was the first time Arthur had ever truly acknowledged it aloud, "But you're an idiot if you think I'm letting you go alone."

Merlin's reaction was instant and he shifted on his pallet, outraged look on his face.

"Do you not understand? It's you they want! I'm not just going to march up there with you behind me when the only thing that stands between Morgana and Camelot is you!"

What else had Merlin done to protect him? Arthur wondered briefly, storing that away for another time – another place – when the threat of Morgana and Morgause wasn't over their heads. They needed to have a long talk when this was all over, but Arthur believed Merlin had pledged himself for Camelot. There was one thing Merlin was not, and that was a liar.

(He didn't want to get into the fact that Merlin hadn't technically lied about his magic, and how so many times he'd admitted it or dodged the question.)

"You're not going alone. No matter what, you're taking me with you." Arthur was set on this. When he had been tied to the land, he'd felt their connection, a thread binding him to Merlin. It was similar to the one that connected Merlin to the land, but there was something different.

As Merlin opened his mouth to object, Arthur spoke, "There's something connecting us, a bond. I felt it when I was under the binding spell." Arthur paused, his tongue moistening his bottom lip. "It's similar to the tie you have to your magic and the earth around us, but it's stronger, more meaningful. It can't be broken," Arthur added, eyes searching to meet Merlin's.

"Like destiny?" Merlin chuckled with the words, but there was no humour in his words.

"No," he replied. While the connection was somewhat similar to sharing a destiny – maybe, perhaps, but Arthur didn't know any of what that would mean anyway – it was more human. It wasn't something Arthur would ever have admitted before being bound, but there was no way he could lie now.

"When Gwen left I thought that everything was over, that I'd never find anyone who understands me or anyone who I could ever love again. And then… then you were there and I realised that, yes, I loved Gwen, but I'd been missing what was right in front of my eyes, telling myself that every time I saw you, the little flutter in my stomach was just because you were my servant." Arthur hadn't had time to think about this, not really, but he could feel how much they meant to each other, how the way their paths met was inevitable.

Shaking his head, Merlin's hand slipped to the blanket on the bed, clutching at the fabric.

"When my soul left my body, it was like someone had pulled a curtain from my eyes. There was nothing but truth and I knew before I felt our bond that I-"

"No, Arthur," Merlin said, shaking his head. "You can't. You don't. All you felt was my magic reacting to the spell, that was all. It's easy to confuse it with human emotions." Merlin gave a sad, small smile. "You don't, Arthur. Even if you're over Gwen, I wouldn't be someone you could be with."

Arthur disagreed. To Merlin it may seem as though his feelings were sudden, but he hadn't understood the feeling of having every doubt, every human weight lifted from him. Merlin had never known what it was like to be so sure of something, so sure that something was right… and Arthur had no way of explaining it.

"Why not? You just used magic to save me, even knowing my father's stance against it. You've been my manservant for years and you know that I have no problem with birth status. You've saved my life more than once it seems and you're the only person I trust without a doubt. And I know how much I mean to you, I felt it. I can't explain it to you, but can you imagine having every doubt ripped from you? To be presented with nothing but the truth and know with clarity that what you can see… what is there is no lie. What exists between us is no lie, so you tell me why not." Arthur's voice had dropped, until his words were low and half-snarled. He needed Merlin to understand this, to realise that, no matter what, his feelings weren't suddenly going to change just after they'd finally been realised.

"I'm not going to come between you and your father," Merlin said quietly, looking away from Arthur.

"I don't care about the magic. I felt it, it's not something you chose and the world needs you. The whole bloody forest sang out in joy when you stepped into it for goodness sake!" Arthur was smiling slightly, remembering the joy that had overtaken his own thoughts, but it froze as Merlin still wasn't looking at him.

"I promise I'll do everything to protect you. You've managed so far in Camelot; we'll just carry on like that until I'm King." It was, as plans went, awful, but Merlin clearly needed some form of reassurance. It was all Arthur had at the moment, when he was here on Merlin's territory, not a Prince, but while Merlin was very much a warlock.

"I know you'd do that, but I can't do it." Merlin finally looked up, eyes clear as he spoke. "You've never followed the Old Religion. Your own religion tells you that the union of the same sex is sinful. I can't… I can't take that from you. Not when you believe in your religion and your father believes in it."

The words chilled Arthur and he wondered how many times Merlin had run the thought through his mind.

"My religion?" he repeated. "My religion has nothing to do with how I feel, Merlin, and I don't see why I should lie to myself just because my father believes it to be a sin." In truth be told, religion had never played a big part of Arthur's childhood. Of course he'd sat through the changes Uther had demanded to those following his rule, but they hadn't been cemented.

(Of course there were whispers of a Lord from afar, but they hadn't reached Camelot yet, or at least not fully enough for Arthur to cast aside the beliefs he had cultured on his own, gleaned from books of old.)

But Merlin still shook his head. "You don't believe in the Old Religion. Even if we… we did this, how long would it last? You have your beliefs and I mine and-"

"I think it's redundant to say that I don't believe in the Old Religion." Arthur's voice was hollow. "I was part of it, part of the earth itself. While I was under that spell, I had all the power in the world running through my body. My father is a fool if he thinks the Old Religion is dead, but I realised that long ago."

Merlin looked as though he wanted to believe the words, so Arthur reached out, placing his hand over Merlin's, where they were curled in his lap.

"Merlin, I-"

"Emrys!" A voice called from outside of the tent and Merlin stood, snatching his hands away from Arthur as if he'd just lit a fire under them.

Arthur watched him go, his hand moving over to Excalibur and he could feel the magic pulsing through the blade. Why couldn't Merlin, just this one, accept that he didn't know everything there was to know about this? Just because he was a creature of the Old Religion didn't entitle Merlin to know everything. He couldn't know how it felt to be so sure of something, to have all barriers removed and a stark realisation hit you.

It was true that Arthur had been raised with a different set of beliefs to Merlin, that he had been raised to think the Old Religion was a dead, corrupt thing, but now that he'd been a part of it, actually felt it flowing through his blood; there was no doubt to which religion Arthur would pledge.

"The Druids want to discuss something," Merlin said as the tent flap closed.

Arthur stood, nodding and reaching for his sword belt. Merlin looked at him in confusion.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking for all the world as if he wanted to grab Arthur's hands to stop him.

"What?" Arthur said, fixing Merlin with a stare, "Just because you saved me from being bound to the land for all eternity doesn't mean I'm just going to sit here twiddling my thumbs."

Merlin looked as if he was about to object, but he must have seen something in Arthur's face (perhaps his determination, maybe his need for this) and simply nodded.

"Arthur will be joining us," he muttered to a Druid outside. While it was odd to hear Merlin relaying an order (or half-order, Arthur supposed), it wasn't completely out of place. Was that because it had to do with Arthur? And Arthur knew how much Merlin felt for him, how much he'd be willing to sacrifice.

The Druid's reply was hidden from Arthur, but it seemed to be an acceptance for Merlin nodded, signalling for Arthur to join him. He rose, a little awkwardly for his muscles were still a little shaky from what they'd been through, but followed easily. Merlin's back was ram-rod straight as they passed through the settlement, head jerking side to side as people began to draw out of their homes, fingers gesturing towards where Arthur walked.

They were led to a large tent – a war tent – stationed slightly above the rest of the camp, on a hill. Inside sat a council of Druids, robed and facing each other in an oblong shape. They sat on the ground, fabrics and cushions lining the floor for comfort. It was unlike any council Arthur had been to in Camelot (or indeed their allied courts), and while it wasn't exactly relaxing, there was something more natural about the positioning of the people, how they were all on the same level.

"Emrys, please, sit," a woman said, gesturing to the head of the oblong, where a space lay between her and a heavy set man. "The Once and Future King can sit by your side," she added, nodding to Arthur.

He knew what the land meant to him. Arthur would be a fool to deny the surge of affection the land had held for him, how tightly it had held him as he'd slipped into the soul spell. The bond that connected him to Merlin could have something to do with that, but the magic in the land had responded to him too, pushing against the soul spell as much as it could, staving off the loss of its future king as best it could without Merlin.

And, during that time, Arthur had heard countless prophecies whispered into his mind. Prophecies by ancient creatures and men alike, all pertaining to the Once and Future King who would unite Albion with the greatest Warlock the world would ever know. He had never put much faith in prophecies before, just as he hadn't put faith in much of the Old Religion, but he knew now that there was something connecting him to the land, connecting him to the magic Merlin had in his blood.

Regardless of whether he'd be a great king or not, he knew now that Merlin was destined, prophesised, foretold to be by his side. Hadn't he proved that much already? Merlin has stayed through thick and thin, trailing after Arthur even when he'd bullied and annoyed Merlin.

They sat, Arthur wondering what would happen. The Druids were a peaceful people, for the most part, so what need did they have to gather like this?

"We've been called here to discuss recent happenings," the woman from before said, nodding to a man next to her. Arthur recognised him as the man he'd handed Mordred over to and the feeling of restlessness that had built inside of him diminished somewhat.

"As many of you felt, a powerful magic was wrought over the land a few days ago." Had it really been that long ago? It felt like a blur to Arthur, both much sooner and later than they'd said. "That spell was designed to bind a soul to the magic of the earth, to rip the soul of the receiver out of their body and chain it to the land."

It was an ancient spell, the man went on to explain, a cruel spell that had been cast out from most circles, from the people who practiced honest, good, magic. It was a spell that required vast amounts of energy and often more than one person to complete fully. The man had looked to Arthur then and he'd confirmed that Morgause had been backed by a group of other sorcerers.

"Emrys was able to bargain with the spell after drinking water from the lake of Avalon," he continued. Arthur moved forwards in his seat, eager to hear exactly just what Merlin had done to save him (this time – no doubt there were countless times he didn't know about).

A few murmurs broke out at what the Druid had said, head bending together to mutter. Merlin was looking down between his crossed legs, pointedly ignoring all of the whisperings, and Arthur could see a flush to his cheeks. Without really thinking, Arthur moved his hand to Merlin's knee, squeezing once before moving it away, nodding to him as Merlin looked up.

They were in this together, whatever had been done. Merlin had nothing to be ashamed of, to be embarrassed about, and Arthur would help him to see that.

"As some of you may know, if a sorcerer powerful enough takes in the waters of Avalon with pure intent," the man said, "Then they, in essence, become a part of Avalon."

Merlin was listening too, Arthur could feel it. Had he not known what he was doing?

"Emrys used this power to negate the bond, to exchange his immortality for Arthur's soul." Arthur couldn't look at Merlin, not with now knowing everything he'd sacrificed. Of what he would most likely continue to sacrifice.

Instead he focused on the Druids staring at them, mouths open a little and some shaking their heads in amazement. While Arthur didn't know much about the constraints of magic, he imagined that turning oneself immortal and then twisting an ancient spell to free the person it had been cast upon was a little bit far from child's play. How powerful exactly was Merlin? Obviously enough to be mentioned in prophesies and given a name (a title)… but did he have any boundaries whatsoever?

"When the spell was completed and the King's soul released from the spell, that was when most of you felt the magic pulse. Morgause was clever in working the spell and had managed to conceal it, but to those who are magic, Emrys' own working was felt." The Druid man bowed his head, shuffling back in his seat as the woman from before spoke.

"We believe that Morgause won't have realised what had happened during the course of the spell. It is to our knowledge that she believes Emrys here to be a simple servant." She paused and Arthur hated the fact that he'd been like Morgause in that respect until very recently.

"She will just have assumed that was what the spell does towards the end, for she was never trained in the subtleties of magic." The woman's lips draw into a thin line, "The High Priestesses tended to prefer power over intricacies," and it was easy to see that the Druids had clashed in aspects with these High Priestesses, judging by the array of nods around the tent.

"What we also know of Morgause," she continued, turning to Merlin. "Is that she is seeking the man named Emrys, believing him to be on her side to help her conquer Camelot."

Merlin clenched his jaw, shaking his head. "I'd never help her," he said softly, glancing to Arthur out of the corner of his eye.

"We know that, Emrys, but there is something else that she has been planning. The Solstice is almost upon us, a time when the magic of the worlds is exposed at a greater measure than it would normally be. Morgause has planned to use that day to summon the Great Dragon and, through him, Emrys."

Arthur would have liked to say he was shocked by the revelation that the dragon still lived, but, as with many things now, he had felt the dragon, cold as ice and burning like fire at the same time, shrouded in heavy, ancient magic. He'd been beautiful, a creature of wonder, and Arthur had felt his loss, as with the loss of the land.

What had Morgause done to him? She'd thought she was sealing him away from the world, forever. Or, if that had failed, that he'd turn to Merlin with hatred, or turn to his father with hatred, join Morgana and her campaign… when instead…

Arthur had felt the whole world in seconds. He'd felt the beauty of magic in his body, seen the devastation that Uther's Purge had wrought. It sickened him now to think that his father had done all that, but he had felt, too, the sadness and grief that clung to Uther.

He knew there was more to the Purge than a simple decision. Uther wouldn't have turned on thousands of people without a conviction in his head and Arthur needed to know of this conviction before he could decide how he would feel.

(Because, at the end of the day, Uther was still his father and he still loved him, no matter their disagreements.)

"How can she have the power to summon the dragon?" Merlin asked, head tilted curiously. And yes, how could she have the power – when only a Dragonlord…

Arthur jerked, that night sliding into place as well as the connection he'd sensed between the dragon and Merlin. How that connection (how Merlin had been made a Dragonlord) would need to be explored further, in private, but it was a start. Arthur was beginning to understand, beginning to see Merlin for the man he really was.

"There were old spells, once," a man from the other side of the oblong said. "Said to be able to summon the dragons. There might be an inkling of truth in them, but Morgause wouldn't be able to wield that power with a hundred sorcerers at her back." The man sounded smug, safe in the knowledge that Morgause couldn't control such a deadly creature.

"But the dragon will come, anyway," the woman said, turning to Merlin. "It's been written, prophesised as you will, that there will be a meeting between the Once and Future King, the Warlock Emrys and the Witch sisters, to which Emrys will call down the Great Dragon."

Arthur wondered if he imagined it when Merlin rolled his eyes, trying to find normality in the oddest of places.

"Why is everything always prophesised," he muttered, just for Arthur's ears. It was good to know that, through all of this, Merlin could still be himself.

Merlin sighed, "I suppose you have a plan then? Considering it's been Seen for years or something."

The Druids around them turned their gazes to Arthur and Merlin, the ball hitting Arthur's stomach as realisation sunk.

"What good is seeing the future if you don't even plan things!" he said before thinking, the fact that the Druids were hoping they had a plan seeming too ridiculous to believe.

Beside him, Merlin started to laugh, the sound spreading through the room, contagious. It was in that moment that Arthur knew with full confidence that, regardless of what Morgana and Morgause threw their way, they could battle through it.

For Camelot. For the people. For Merlin.

**.**

Morgana had done her best, standing next to Uther with a veil over her eyes, pretending that tears were welling in her eyes as the King announced to his Kingdom that his son was gone. Not dead, but gone, and that was good enough as dead.

Instead, as she'd stood on the parapet, she'd let her mind wander to what her own rule would be like. Would the people gaze up at her in adoration as she made her announcements? Would they turn in horror when they realised she was the one with the rightful claim to the throne?

She was in her rooms now, away from the sombre castle and its halls. In her room she dressed in a crimson red, a far cry from the blacks of Camelot. She was a Pendragon, the heir to the throne even if ignored by her father. She'd show them, soon enough.

There was a noise at her window and Morgana moved to open it, noticing the small bird staring at her. It hopped once, a tiny scroll tied to its leg, before Morgana untied the binding of the scroll and the bird flew off.

The message was short, but Morgana felt even more triumphant. Not even Morgause had known about this, about what she'd found and now… now it was all paying off.

"I'll come with Emrys," Morgana whispered, reading the note as elation sang in her blood.

"Look at me now sister, look what you helped make me." Morgana smiled to the empty room, wanting to laugh, "Are you proud?"

**.**


End file.
